Words Left Unsaid
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: "The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone." Mark and Lexie both have regrets as the plane plummets toward the ground. Will they ever get a chance to make up for what they didn't say and what they didn't do?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Two days. Okay, two days. We can do this, guys. We can hold out that long. In the meantime, why not read yet another ML fic to pass the hours? This one will (probably) be less depressing than the others, I promise.

**Inspiration**: For this fic, it comes from the Harriet Beecher Stowe quote I heard while watching an episode of the TV show _Criminal Minds _(which is an amazing show, by the way). My first thought, of course, went straight to Lexie dying and all the regrets Mark would have to live with afterward; it was a post-crash look back on what had happened... But then I thought about it, and I decided it might be more interesting to do it all in real time, to actually _see_ the crash happen and discover how our beloved surgeons react to this catastrophe and how it changes their perspectives. What's not important, and what is? What doesn't need to be said, and what does? And will they all figure it out in time? Read and find out :)

_._

**_Prologue_**

_._

_Harriet Beecher Stowe once said,_

_"The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone."_

_._

Mark Sloan can't take his eyes off her. He can't do _anything,_ in fact, except stare at her. She is less than five feet away, but still he can't say a word. He wants to hit himself. _She _poured her heart out. _She _laid it all on the line. _She _was brave.

He, obviously, is not. Sitting her twiddling his thumbs and tapping his feet; he can't even speak to a girl, even when he knows for a fact that she's in love with him. He exhales angrily through his nose, wishing that there were an easy solution. But of course there isn't. Nothing this monumental is ever easy. It takes time.

And he _had _meant what he said when he told her he needed time, when he told her he needed to think about what she'd said. That wasn't a stall. He frowns. He hopes she was able to see that. He moves forward in his chair, as if to call out to her; _Lexie! Lexie, it wasn't a stall. I just need to wrap my head around it. I just need to _understand. _I just need _time.

That was Mark Sloan's problem: time. Time was never on his good side. First, he was too old and she was too young. Then they were at different stages in life. And then his daughter and grandson had come into the picture, too much, too fast, too young. _Time, time, time. _More than anything, he wants to get that time back. More than anything, he wants _more _time.

It has been nearly a week since she'd approached him outside the hospital and _still _he can't calm himself down enough to actually digestand understandwhat she'd said that night. Still, whenever he thought about that night, he would get so sidetracked and awestruck by what she's said that he couldn't piece it all together. But now… He takes a breath, forcing himself to focus. She said she loved him. Initially, that was good. He'd prayed for her to say that for months, and she'd finally admitted it. …But it was also bad. They had both come to see over the years that their ideas of love did not line up. _He _perceived it as a life-long commitment. You love one person. You love one person and you are done. …And she, judging by the number of times she'd walked out on him, was done. Just not in the way he had hoped.

But even so… He loved her. Still, he really, _really _loved her. She was in his head, in his heart… She was an ache in his chest and gut and other place he wouldn't allow himself to think about right now. She was always there, and he was starting to think that she _would _always be there. And she… She had made it seem like she really loved him, too. She said that she couldn't breathe or eat or sleep… Well, he understood. He knew what that was like. He'd been through that rodeo once or twice. But the important thing, more important than her words (no matter how honest), or her actions (no matter how admirable), was the one question that plagued him: Could he trust her? Did he dare let himself be convinced (again) that this was a life-long commitment on her part and not just jealous envy finally boiling its way to the surface? Did he dare to hope that she shared his sentiments, his love, his commitment, his very real plans for the future?

He heaves a sigh, shaking his head. He knows he won't come to a conclusion today, just as he hasn't come to one every day since she admitted her love to him in that hospital entryway. So he turns his head, forcing his gaze away from her and out the window. He watches the clouds pass by, praying for a distraction, for an answer, for an opportunity to see and know the truth.

.

All Lexie Grey wanted to do was sleep. The last couple of days had been tiring—_exhausting, _really, if she were to factor in the emotional strain. But she can't think about that night. No. Not now. Not ever. It just makes her want to slam her head against the wall or fall into a coma. It's too horrible, too humiliating, too… She closes her eyes. Devastating.

She squeezes her eyes tight, trying not to think about the stunned-speechless look he had on his face. But of course, trying _not _to think about it only made her think about it more. Made her think about _him _more.

Her shoulders twitch; her body shivering involuntarily at the thought of him.

_He doesn't want you._

She takes a deep breath. No matter how much it hurts, she tells herself, you have to face the facts. You _must _face the facts. They're all you have, all you've ever had.

_He doesn't want you_.

But why _not?_ A voice in her head demands. Why does he want her over me? _Her_? After all we've been through? The answer comes a second later: because she's different. She isn't young or inexperienced or lacking commitment. She wants his kids; hell, she'd probably marry him on the spot if he offered.

Lexie sighs. _That's it_, she thinks sadly. _We've been through too much together. We've tried and tried and tried and it just _doesn't work _between us. As much as we both want it to, it has never and will never work._ Lexie has to bite her lip at the thought: it's so honest, so raw and brutal… She looks down, hoping no one can see the tears pricking her eyes. As she stares at her hands, sniffing quietly so no one will take notice, she realizes that this sudden display of emotion on her part only solidifies her theory. _I tried, _she realizes, thinking of that night not even a week ago. _And he refused me._ She swallows, remembering. _And he tried too,_ she reminds herself, thinking of the fight they'd had last year and how she told him she didn't want to love him. _And I refused him._

She swallows roughly, forcing her head up. Automatically—and against her will—her eyes find him. He's on the other side of the plane. His head is leaning against the window; he must be asleep or studying the clouds. She can't see his eyes from this angle, but she can see his whole profile. And it nearly takes her breath away. She knows it's stupid, after all these years, to still be so bowled over by his physical appearance… But she can't help it. With the exception of Jackson (or maybe without), he was the handsomest man she'd ever been with. The eldest, the most experienced… She almost blushes for a moment, thinking of all he'd showed her their first night together… And how much more they'd both learned about each other the many nights after.

He was the most loving, too, she realizes with a pang a moment later. No one she'd ever been with—_no one_—had ever loved her like she knew he did. He didn't even need to say it—she just _knew._ And that was the way it was supposed to be, wasn't it? All those stories about true love and undying devotion? It's isn't manufacture or created or cultivated... It's just _there._

And that was why it was such a horrible, horrible shame his love hadn't lasted like hers had. She tells herself it's his loss: he'll never know how much she loves him, or how devoted she is to him… He'll never know that she's considered rescinding her reservations on marriage and children—for him, and for him only.

Yes, she tries to tell herself it's all his loss.

But the truth is, it _isn't _his loss. He has a family, a girlfriend… And maybe he'll even have a pretty new wife and a baby boy or girl soon. What is he missing out on? Who's the _real _loser in this situation?

Her heart breaks at the thought, for she knows already. She's known for weeks. It's why she confronted him with that out-of-control 's _her _loss. _Hers, _and hers alone. She's lost him, and with him, any shot she might've had at love or fulfillment or a _real _life outside of her profession. Without him, she's lost it all. She's the loser.

And she will never forgive herself for it, as long as she lives.

Lexie Grey forces a breath through her lungs, trying not to panic as she feels the tears start to come on. Her eyes dart around frantically; _exit, _she thinks. _I need an exit. _Her eyes fall on it, on the far side of the plane, filled with tears and relief. She unbuckles her seatbelt and gets to her feet without wasting another second. She doesn't trust herself to hold it together any longer.

.

Derek Shepherd had tried. He had tried starting conversation, he tried getting under the plastic surgeon's skin… Once or twice, he had even actually succeeded in grabbing his friend's attention… But he was never able to hold it. The other man's gaze always reverted back to her. Again and again and again his attention returned to her, and after an hour of this, Derek realized that he had begun to understand the term 'self-destructive behavior.'

Mark just couldn't help himself. He said he wasn't a cheater anymore, but every look he gave this woman that wasn't his girlfriend told a different story. Derek Shepherd doesn't even need to peek into his friend's mind to know that the feelings go so much deeper than preoccupied thoughts and stolen glances.

Derek sighs, propping his head up with one hand. Mark won't cave to him, that much has already been established. But then a though strikes him—who had already caved? Multiple times, to him _and _to Mark? Derek looks over to his sister-in-law, a self-satisfied smile spreading over his face just in time for him to see the woman get to her feet and head across the plane towards the lavatory. He gets to his feet as well, following after her. Her pace quickens the moment she picks up on his presence, but Derek matches her step for step, determined to get at least _one _of them to see sense.

Her eyes are filled with tears when she whirls around on him. "_What?_" She hisses, keeping her voice low so as to not draw the attention of the surgeons in the back of the plane. "What do you want, Derek?"

"I wanted to talk to you," he replies softly, "about this stupid stalemate you and Mark have found yourselves in."

"You don't need to concern yourself with my relationship with Mark," she informs him. "Or lack thereof." She tries to keep her words crisp and controlled, but they tremble when they exit her mouth. He doesn't miss how her hand flies to her face to swat away an escaped tear.

"Lexie," Derek prods gently, "want to tell me why you're so upset?"

She shakes her head, biting down hard on her lip. "No reason," she whispers hoarsely.

He eyes her kindly. "Am I going to have to force it out of you this time, Little Grey?" He tilts his head at her. "Come on, try me. I've helped out in the past, right?"

She shakes her head again, but more defeated this time. He hears her let out a long breath just before she opens her mouth to speak. "I've just…" She ducks her head down, but that doesn't stop him from seeing the tears that stain her pretty face. "I've just realized," she mutters, wiping her cheeks quickly and lifting her eyes to his, "that it's too late for me and him. It's too late for us to figure things out, to be together. We missed our shot."

"Oh, Lexie," Derek murmurs sadly. "You haven't—"

"Yes, we have!" She counters angrily. Her voice falls back to a hush a second later, spying for eavesdroppers. When she doesn't find any, she continues. "I mean, god, Derek, you saw him in that elevator! He didn't say one word to me about what happened last week."

"Yes, because I was there!"  
She shakes her head again, fear filling her eyes again. "It doesn't make a difference," she half-sobs. "He doesn't want me." She sniffs her nose quickly, closing her eyes. "But, _god, _do I want him," she whispers. Her tear-filled eyes find his when they open. "I—I'd do anything, _anything, _at this point, just to have him, just to be with him. He wants to get married?" She wonders. "Done! He wants kids? Done! I don't care! I'll do it, whatever it takes! I just…" She expels a large breath. "I want to be with him so badly, Derek. I can't think about _anything _else. But it's…it's becoming clear to me that he doesn't want me like that. Or at all. So it's…" She sniffs again, looking away. "So it's just not going to happen between us."

Derek sighs, putting his hands on his sister-in-law's shoulders. "First of all, Lexie," he begins firmly, "Mark _absolutely _wants you. Don't ever think otherwise." He stares her hard in the eyes. "Lexie, that idiot is in _love_ with you. You said he's all you think about?" He gives her a small smile, tilting his head towards the back of the plane. "Lex, who do you think _he's_ spent the last two hours staring at?"

Her eyes widen, taken aback as they study the plastic surgeon in question. "He… He's been looking at me?"  
Derek almost laughs. "If I didn't know him, I would think the guy was a stalker. He stared at you for an hour and a half straight before giving up."

"Giving up…?"  
Derek grimaces slightly. "He's… trying to come to terms with everything that's happened, with what you said."

Lexie's hand flies to her mouth. "He told you about that?"

"Don't worry," Derek assures her. "He didn't give any specifics—if there even were any. He just said that you admitted your love for him." He leans closer. "And by the way, I told him to kiss you."

Lexie can't help but smile. "Thanks, Derek. I wish you'd given him that advice sooner."

"Me too, Little Grey." He takes a breath. "And you know what? If he doesn't figure out how to show or tell you how he feels by the time we land in Boise, I promise I will do it for him."

Lexie manages a weak chuckle at this. "Do it for him?" She repeats. "Won't your wife be a little upset? Also, I don't think I'd be very comfortable…"

He smiles, shaking his head. "I meant I'd force him into speaking to you."

Lexie grins. "So now he's being forced?"

"He just needs to confront his feelings, once and for all," Derek replies seriously. He pauses for a moment, looking into her dark brown eyes intently. "And those feelings _are _there, Lexie. He knows he loves you, okay? He just needs to find a way to tell you."

"He's had plenty of chances."

Derek gives her a small smile. "Do me a favor then, and give him another chance?"

Lexie holds his gaze for a few seconds before nodding quietly. "Okay," she murmurs. "I'll give him another chance." _I'll give him a million chances._

"Good." He pulls her into a quick hug. "Let's go back to our seats?"

She gives him a small smile. "Give me a minute, okay? To gather my bearings?"

Derek smiles back. "Of course," he replies.

.

Lexie closes the lavatory door behind her, taking a deep breath when the lights flicker on. She regards herself in the mirror for a time, pleased to see that the damage isn't too bad. Her eyes just look a little red, is all.

She's pushing the door open as she feels her body start to shake. She frowns, immediately on edge, wondering where this panic attack is coming from. _I'll give him another chance, _she tells herself, trying to calm her shaking hands and arms. _I'll give him another chance and we'll figure it out._ She swallows, forcing herself to stay calm. But calm flies out the window two seconds later as she realizes that it isn't her body that's shaking, it's _the plane, _and she knows it isn't just turbulence. It's too bad just to be turbulence. When the overhead lights flicker, and then the emergency aisle lights come on, she knows it must be some sort of system failure. Maybe one of the engines is out of commission. Her stomach drops with the plane as it dips into a nosedive beneath their feet. _Maybe both engines._

After that thought, her mind goes completely blank. She looks out at the tiny compartment before her. Her eyes skim over Derek, only halfway back to his seat and still closer to her than the other passengers as he braces himself against the ceiling in a row of seats just a few feet away; and Arizona, who appears to be praying to ward off superstition; and Meredith and Cristina, who are both waking from their naps; her eyes skim over everyone. Except him.

Her eyes lock onto his automatically, bridging the distance between them—almost the length of the entire plane—with just one look. She sees the realization in his eyes just as it's become fully formed in her mind: _We're going to die._

The rest of the plane is completely aware now, and as they all become cognizant of what's going to happen—as the plane drops faster and faster towards the ground—the screams start. She doesn't know who yells first, or what is being said, but she does hear the noise. And the panic and the fear. She can almost _smell _the fear—like a predator can his prey—it's that pervasive.

And yet she can't scream, and neither can he. Both their tongues are plastered to the inside of their mouths and their lips are sealed shut. And though they know this is literally their _last chance _to speak, neither can. There's so much to say, so much to confess and admit and pray and hope for, but really, if they're both being honest, three simple words will suffice. She watches him get unsteadily to his feet, his eyes still locked with hers, and for a half-second her heart warms at the image, certain he's coming to get her; certain he's coming to hold her, to kiss her, to whisper in her ear 'I love _you_.'

But then a horrible crunching, cracking, and tearing sound rips through their small world, rips through her mind… And separates her from him. She watches, frozen in place, as the floor, walls, and ceiling of the plane split apart between them as they plummet closer and closer to what can only be their deaths.

Lexie recalls—vaguely, as if it were another woman's memory—how she thought, just minutes ago, that she'd never forgive herself for losing him for as long as she lived. And even as her body is thrown backward against the cockpit and the screams that had become familiar over the last couple seconds disappear altogether, a side of her smiles. _At least I won't have to live very long with the guilt._

_._

_"The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone."_

_Harriet Beecher Stowe_

_._

Author's Note: I would love feedback! I think I'm going to turn this into a multi-chapter fic, so keep and eye out for updates! **Please leave me a review** to let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

**Author's Note**: I realize that this story plays out differently than the promos for the show and also the five-minute clip that was released yesterday. But I wrote this chapter without having seen any of the auxiliary promos or extended clips, so I hope the differences don't bother you. Enjoy:

.

"Wake up." Her voice tickles his ear. He can feel her leaning over him, applying light pressure to his right shoulder as her hair falls over his neck. "C'mon, Mark." Her voice is soft and warm and he feels himself smile at the thought of her. "It's time to wake up."

_Just give me a few more minutes_, he tries to tell her. But only a mumble escapes his mouth.

"Mark, wake up." She's more insistent this time. "Come on, Mark. Please!" The last word escapes her mouth in what sounds almost like a…sob. _But that doesn't make any sense_, he thinks to himself. _Why would Lexie be crying on a normal Monday morning?_

_._

"_MARK_," Meredith screeches, resisting the urge to shake him awake lest she inflicts more damage on him. "Wake _UP_, Mark!" She covers her mouth a second later, only managing a weak, "Please," as she crouches closer over him and presses her flat palms against his chest with a forced lightness. She's too worried about injuring him to use more pressure. "You're the only one here," she half-cries. "Please, Mark..." Her head falls against his chest as she feels herself spiral further out of control. "Please, I need you to be alive. _Please_. I—"

"Meredith?"

The blonde's head snaps to attention at once, recognizing the surprised voice automatically. "CRISTINA?" She shouts, her head whipping in all directions to find her freind.

"I'm right here," the other woman replies, scrambling over part of the plane. "I'm fine, I'm—" She breaks off at the sight of her best friend clutching the head of plastics' hand. "Is he dead?" She croaks brokenly.

Meredith shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I—I don't know," she whispers. "He has a pulse, but..." She looks to her friend with fear-filled eyes. "Cristina, he won't wake up. I've been screaming at him for ten minutes, and still nothing." She reaches up, wiping her eyes with a dirty sleeve. "I thought we were the only two left; when I w—woke up, there was no one, there was…" She shakes her head, glancing quickly back to Mark and trying to reclaim composure. "He won't look at me," she informs the other surgeon a moment later as she studies Mark's blank face. "He won't open his eyes or squeeze my hand…" She crushes his fingers within hers again. "Come on, Mark," she whispers intently. "I know you're there. I know you can here me. Just say something. Squeeze my hand. Blink your eyes. Do _something._"

Cristina steps back, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she surveys the surrounding wreckage. "Have you found anyone else?" She asks quickly. "Did anyone else make it?"

"I already _told you_," Meredith replies, "I thought I was the only one alive. Mark was the first person I spotted—" She breaks off, horror filling her face. "Derek," she whispers, her eyes locking onto Cristina's. "Oh, god, Cristina, where's Derek?"

Cristina shakes her head, not having an answer. "I have no idea," she mumbles through numb lips.

.

His head is ringing. He feels like someone's playing keep-away with it; tossing it back and forth back and forth. He shuts his eyes because keeping them open is too painful. Gradually, the ringing fades a bit after a few minutes and other sounds surface. Or maybe it doesn't fade.

Maybe the screams just get louder.

"HELLO? IS ANYBODY OUT THERE? _HELLO?_"

He opens his eyes just a fraction of a centimeter. He's immediately blinded by the sun above him and shuts his eyes again, lifting a hand to shield them for next time.

"SIR! SIR, ARE YOU ALIVE?"

He debates saying 'no,' maybe just to shut the other man up, but his manners prevail. _Yes. _He opens his mouth and speaks, but no sound comes out. He moves his hand to his throat, but he doesn't feel any injuries. _Try again, _he instructs himself. _Try until it works._ He parts his lips to speak again, half-pleased to hear a sort of strangled groan escape his mouth in place of a word. _Try again._

"Sir?" The man's voice is less frantic now. "Sir, can you speak? Can you tell me your name?"

"D…" He focuses on taking a breath and forming the word. "D—Derek."

"Great." He sounds relieved. "Hi, Derek. I'm Roy."

"Why…" Derek forces in another breath, realizing that the man's voice still sounds distant despite his conversational tone. "Why haven't you moved?"

"Look up."

Derek Shepherd props himself up on his elbows, angling his eyes away from the sun and more towards the ground level. He spots the man strapped into the pilot's seat immediately. Roy lifts a bloodied hand in a half-wave. "Hey," he calls. "You think you can stand, maybe try and help me get out of this thing?"

Derek narrows his eyes at the brown-haired man, instantly suspicious. "You're the pilot?"

Roy nods, sighing slightly. "Yes. I am."

"Why did you crash the plane?"

"I didn't do it on _purpose, _if that's what you're implying," Roy snaps, his voice immediately turning sharp at the accusation. "These things happen; the engines—"

"'_These things happen'_?" Derek repeats incredulously, forcing himself unsteadily to his feet but using his anger to fuel his advance. "When the hell does a plane crash _just happen_? There were six people on board; you put us all at risk—!"

"There were _nine _people on the plane, not six," Roy interrupts. His green eyes size up the dark-haired man as he limps forward. He walks favoring his left leg; almost dragging it. He has a large rip through his shirt, and Roy can see blood seeping through the dark blue fabric. His face and hair are smeared with dirt and a myriad of shallow cuts cover his cheeks and forehead. But despite all that, the man still walks with undamaged self-assurance. _Surgeon. _"You surgeons weren't the only people on the plane," Roy spits maliciously. "You aren't the only people who matter. I lost my co-pilot and I have no idea where Brenda is."

Derek comes to a stop by the nose of the plane, leaning against the metal to relieve the strain on his leg as he massages his temples with his hands. "Right," he mumbles apologetically. "I'm sorry. Of course we aren't. I'm sorry about—"

"Mike," Roy offers. Derek hears the man's voice fill with sadness; out of respect he keeps his eyes to the ground, not wanting to make the situation any worse. "His name was Mike."

"You work together long?"  
"Almost six years."

"I'm very sorry for your loss."

To his surprise, laughter booms out of the pilot's mouth. Derek's head snaps up, shocked.

"Wow," the pilot grins. "You surgeons sure know how to make it sound genuine."

Derek closes his eyes, berating himself for not being more present. "I…" But how can he be expected to focus on the death of a man he never even met after his plane fell over a hundred stories out of the sky? How can he be expected to focus on _anything_?

"Anyway," Roy continues, clearing his throat before Derek can get too lost in his thoughts, "I was wondering if you could help me here…" He motions for Derek to step closer, and he does so, pulling himself up against the pilot's shattered window to speak with the man. "The buckle's jammed," he explains. He shows his hands, scratched and bloodied from trying so hard to break free. "I think we need a rock or something to smash it open; at the very least, another set of fresh hands and eyes."

Derek nods, already looking around for a sturdy-looking rock. "Right," he replies, scanning the dirty, barren ground. "I'll start looking for a rock." He frowns after a few minutes. "There's not much here."

"Well, keep looking," Roy replies. "We're in the _woods, _it can't be that hard to find a rock."

"I'm looking, I'm looking," Derek mumbles, picking his way through the wreckage. Just as he's about to turn around and start on the other side of the clearing, something catches his eye. It's the perfect shape—it will fit easily in his hand and looks strong enough to break a small amount of metal. "I think I got something," he calls back to the cockpit. "It's over here; I'll be right back."

He returns a moment later with a surprisingly sharp-looking piece of gray rock. Roy eyes it warily as Derek climbs his way into the cockpit. "All that blaming-me-for-the-crash stuff is over, right? You're not planning on _'accidentally_' stabbing me with that, are you?"

Derek has to smile. "No, I'm not going to stab you. You're going to help me find my colleagues after we get you out of here."

"Ah," Roy replies, shifting in his seat to give Derek space to maneuver his shot. "You need me to be your crutch, huh?"  
Derek smiles thinly, going through the motions of a test-run. He fits a thick shard of broken plastic between the man and the metal buckle, to protect him in case the shot misses...or hits. "Just help my find out who else survived. It's what you would do anyway, I'm sure."

Roy nods. "Okay." He glances to the rock in the other man's hand. "Go."

With one carefully aimed hit, the intricate seatbelt that had been holding the pilot prisoner was crushed into pieces and sprang apart. Roy breathed a sigh of relief before jumping out of his seat, eagerly following the surgeon out of the plane and onto solid ground. He holds out his hand.

"Roy Keller."

"Derek Shepherd," Derek replies, grasping the other man's hand firmly and shaking it. A spasm of pain shoots up the man's arm the second it moves; Derek almost jumps when he cries out. "What's wrong?" He asks, immediately letting do and stepping forward. "Did I…" Derek trails off, choosing instead to stare at the monstrous gash tearing the entire way up Roy Keller's arm. The laceration extends from his bicep down to his mid-forearm; in places the wound is over a centimeter wide and possibly twice as deep. He can see pieces of white bone among the muscle and connective tissue. Eventually, Derek Shepherd's eyes return to the worried pilot's face. "You failed to mention this," he says finally.

.

"L… Lex?"

"He said something!" Cristina exclaims, pressing up closer next to her best friend. "I think he's waking up!"

"Lex," Mark mumbles again. His blue eyes blink open, and both Meredith and Cristina sigh audibly in relief.

"Thank god," Meredith mutters under her breath, just before raising her voice and leaning closer to him. "Mark," she begins, "it's Meredith." She watches his eyes blink again. "Hey," she smiles, studying the way his pupils dilate as they adjust to the incoming sunlight. "How are you?"

"Where's…" He coughs, raising a hand to cover his mouth as he props himself up into a sitting position. He presses his palm flat against the side of his head, surveying Meredith and Cristina as they move to stand before him. "Where's Lexie?"

Meredith swallows. "I—I don't know. You were the first person I found."

"You mean you haven't even _looked _for her?" Mark questions, immediately furious. Anger ignites his tone, simultaneously bringing some color back to his face. "What the hell have you been doing—"

"I have been _trying,_" Meredith interrupts shrilly, "to get _you _to wake up, you ungrateful ass! If you could just—"

"The plane _split in half, _Meredith!" Mark shouts back, jumping to his feet. He sways for a moment, realizing it wasn't a good idea to get up so quickly, but he rapidly regains his composure. "The plane _split! _It broke in half, and she wasn't on _our_ half, sothat means she's—she's—god-knows-where, probably hurt, probably—" He breaks off when she watches her wobble; her face goes white as she blindly reaches out for something to support her. All she grabs is Mark's arm. "What?" He growls, still angry. "What—"

"Derek," she whispers, her eyes wide with fear. "Derek, he—he was on the other side of the plane. When it split, I—I saw him fly away from me. _Oh, god, _he could be—"

"He could be anything," Cristina interrupts smoothly, taking Meredith's hand and relieving Mark of his duty to support her. "But for now, we're going to work on the assumption that he's alive." She spares a quick glance for Mark. "And that he's with Lexie." Cristina takes a moment to stare both of them in the eyes. "They'll both be fine. But before we start to look for either of them, let's find everyone on our side of the plane, okay?" She pauses, looking around. "Has anyone seen Dr. Robbins?"

.

Lexie Grey is struggling to keep her breathing even.

_In and out, _she coaches herself._ Nice and easy._

It's been a few minutes since she woke up, but she's only now just beginning to understand what's happened. The plane. The crash. The split. She closes her eyes tiredly as all the undeniable facts bombard her. She wishes she could let herself sleep and slip away from reality, but she knows, better than most, that that could be a life-threatening decision for someone in her situation.

As she continues to become acclimated to her new situation, the memories from before come back to her in bits and pieces. _Mark _absolutely _wants you. Give him another chance._ She feels herself smile at the thought, but immediately regrets the action. Doing so tears up multiple cuts on her lips; she can taste blood on her teeth and tongue in seconds. The pain makes her think about her previous _lack_ of pain. _Why don't I hurt?_

The answer comes immediately: _Because I'm _not_ hurt._

Lexie takes a shallow breath, trying not to inhale too deeply unless the movement dislodges the enormous sheet of metal she seems to be trapped under. She tries to wiggle her toes and flex her calf muscles, but to no avail. She can't feel anything from mid-thigh down, where what looks like part of the siding of the plane has begun slowly crushing her legs. She takes another steadying breath, trying to calculate how much time she has before she loses all feeling in those legs… forever.

Four to eight hours, she finally settles on. _Depending on, of course, how long you've been trapped unconscious under this thing._

She rolls her shoulders, focusing her attention on her other limbs. She's pleased to realize that she has full feeling in both arms, and full control. She immediately sighs in defeat. _If only I were stuck under a tree and not a plane, _she thinks to herself. Then I _might _have had a chance to lift it. But as things stand now, she knows it's impossible. The metal is too heavy and too large; there is no way she'd be able to lift it alone, even if she weren't trapped beneath it. Her best hope is that there are other survivors, mobile, with strength and clearness of thought to help her. She thinks of all the other passengers on the plane, the crewmembers, the polite stewardess… Any one of them would fit the bill, hypothetically.

And yet, only one potential survivor, one savior, comes immediately to mind.

Lexie Grey closes her eyes, ridiculing her head and heart for working together on this one…for once_._ _It can be anyone_, she tells herself. _It doesn't have to be him_. It could be Meredith or Derek or Cristina or Arizona… Anyone. _Anyone._

_But, _her heart and brain whisper between each other, _I want it to be him._

_._

Author's Note: So what did you think? Will Mark save Lexie? ;) And how about the other survivors? **Please leave me a review with your thoughts!**

_Grey's _Note: So no matter what happens tonight, I just want you guys to know that I've really appreciated all your support of my fics. My writing is very important to me, and I'm glad I found an outlet to share it with like-minded people. That being said, I'd also like to inform you all that no matter who does or does not die tonight, I'll still keep writing for Mark and Lexie. I don't care if one of them dies; they're too deep in my heart and mind to be ripped out now. I've shipped M/L since the beginning; I'll ship them even after they're both dead! That's a promise :)

**Again, please leave me your thoughts in a review! Good luck to us all tonight.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

_Author's Note: Wow, thank you all for the reviews! They were so encouraging to see! I hope you like this chapter:_

.

Roy Keller swallows down the fear rising in him, unable to look away from the bone fragments he can see peeking through the bloodied flesh of his arm. He can feel the adrenaline fading already; he knows the pain will hit him soon. "You're—You're a surgeon, but you can still stitch people up, right?" He wonders, forcing himself to look at the man in front of him. _Derek, _he remembers vaguely, _the man's name is Derek. _"Just—stitch me up, Derek, and we'll be good to go."

Derek shakes his head. "You need more than a needle and some thread—and we don't even _have_ a needle and thread." He sighs. "We're going to have to make you a splint and wrap up that arm." He steps away. "I'm going to look for something to tie around your shoulder; why don't you find some flat pieces of wood or metal to fit around your arm?"

Roy nods weakly. Derek takes a look at him; already he can see that Roy's face has grown paler, sicker. He reaches up, resting his hand lightly on the pilot's uninjured shoulder. "Just try and find some flat, sturdy pieces of the wreck. We've gotta make a splint and we've gotta make it fast."

Roy nods again. This time, he seems a bit more in-control of himself now that he has a defined purpose. "Okay," he replies. "And then we find the others," he adds.

Derek nods; he hadn't thought of the others since he'd met his companion. He hadn't thought about _her_. He takes a breath, banishing all thoughts of his wife. Of her smile, of her laugh, of her beautiful blonde hair… "Right." He clears his throat, mentally forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. "I'm going to look for some fabric or cloth to make a sling. You find pieces for that splint."

.

"Over here!"

Cristina's shout comes from the far side of the clearing; Meredith and Mark both look up at the sound and take off at as fast a sprint as they can manage.

"Arizona?" Meredith calls, leaping over a few smoldering pieces of wreckage. "Did you find her?"

"Is she okay?" Mark asks, coming to a stop just a foot behind the cardiothoracic surgeon.

"She's…" Cristina sighs, bending down. She reaches an arm forward to take the woman's pulse. "She's alive, at least."

"At least?" Meredith presses worriedly, rounding almost half of the plane to get to the small congregation of surgeons. "What—" Her voice chokes off, a hand flying to her mouth at the sight below her. "Oh, _god_."

"To answer your question, Mark," Cristina replies, "_No_, she is _not_ okay."

Meredith opens her mouth to speak, but she can't do anything but stare at the gaping, bloody wound that's torn its way through the peds' surgeon's abdomen. As if she'd been waiting to regain consciousness until someone found her, Arizona's eyes flicker open as the three circle around her. She takes a breath, but it quickly turns into a gasp, and then a shout of pain as she clutches the foot-long shaft of metal deeply embedded in her side. Cristina Yang is bent over her in a second, shushing her.

"Dr. Robbins," she begins, "I don't want you to move, okay? Don't touch the object, don't move it, don't try to force it out—"

"The _object_?" Arizona repeats incredulously through gasps of pain. "Yang, there is a—"

"—a piece of the plane stuck in your side," Mark finishes for her, bending down beside Yang. Meredith joins him a moment later. "Which means you can't move, okay? That'll just make things worse. _No moving, _Robbins."

He stares at her, waiting for her approval, but all she can do is shake her head. He stares at her, not knowing what to make of his, until tears start falling down her cheeks.

"Mark," she whispers, "Mark, you'll take care of Sofia?"

His eyes flash at her desperate words. "Stop it, Robbins," he growls.

"If I don't make it out—"

He crouches closer; his face mere inches from hers. She falls silent at the proximity; though they share a daughter, they've never really been close. "Arizona," he begins quietly, "if you don't make it out, _I_ don't make it out, okay?" He looks her in the eyes. "I'm not going to leave you here to rot, and I am certainly not going to leave our daughter without a mother. Don't ask me to do that, because it's not going to happen. Either we both get out or we don't. I'm not going without you."

"Callie—"

"And Callie," he interrupts smoothly, "will meet us at whatever hospital we end up at in a few hours' time." He looks her in the eyes. "All right?"

She swallows, finally giving in with a nod. "Okay," she whispers. She looks to Cristina. "Do it, Dr. Yang. Whatever you have to do, do it."

"Dr. Robbins," Cristina begins slowly, "there's… nothing to do. The piece is too big; we're going to have to leave it in until we can get you proper tools, the proper hospital setting, to take it out."

"And who knows when that will be."

"Regardless," Cristina replies, "we still have to pack the wound." She smiles, suddenly energized. "And that we can do." She turns to Mark. "You wanted to find Lexie?" He nods immediately, his ears perking up at her name. "Go look for any type of fabric or gauze-like material we can use to pack the wound. There were blankets on the plane; see if you can find those."

He frowns at her, still half-confused at her directions and how the woman he loves factors into them. "Lexie…?"

She just blinks at him. "She's who you really want to find, right? Well, look for her simultaneously. Hit two birds with one stone."

He's on his feet in less than a second, before Cristina even finishes speaking. He spares a quick glance for the pediatric surgeon. "I'll be right back, Robbins, okay? You'll be fine. I'll find something to help you; I'll be back soon."

"Okay, Mark. Hurry back." She forces a weak smile for him. "And bring Lexie back with you, okay?"

He nods seriously, taking off without another word. Arizona stares after him. Slowly, she turns her fear-filled eyes back to Meredith and Cristina. "You… You mean you haven't found Lexie yet?"

.

"Will this work?"

Derek Shepherd get to his feet, shielding his eyes against the sun as he looks in the direction the pilot's voice came from. He stares critically at the large sheet of metal the man's holding up. "Too wide," he shouts back. "You need something smaller; the size of your arm, remember?"

Roy nods, dropping the piece and resuming his search. Derek sits back down, returning to his work. He's trying to rip apart a few tattered blankets he found in the wreckage into useable pieces. If he can manage to tie the pieces together once he's finished making them, he'll probably be able to create a halfway-decent splint and sling. _Anything is better than nothing, _he reminds himself, focusing again on his work.

"Uh… Doc?"

"Yeah?" Derek shouts back, not bothering to look up this time. "Remember, size of your arm, Roy."

"It not about the splint."

Derek's head rises at the man's detached, shaking voice. He slowly gets to his feet, feeling a chill run up his body despite the midday heat. "Roy?" He calls. "What is it?"

The pilot shakes his head, too nervous to respond or move closer to confirm his suspicions. _She's dead, _he thinks, staring at the splayed dark brown hair coming out from under the plane. _She's dead, I know she is. _He can't bear to look at another dead body, not after Mike. He closes his eyes. _And Brenda, _he thinks, remembering that the stewardess is still missing. _God, where is she?_

He almost jumps when he hears footsteps crunch behind him. "What is it?" Derek calls, coming up behind the pilot. "What—" He feels his heart stop when he recognizes the woman's hair. He surges forward in an instant, dropping to his knees and holding back a cry of pain at what the movement does to his injured leg.

To his immense relief and surprise, she's smiling when he crouches beneath the wreckage to get a good look at her. Blood runs from her cut lips down onto her teeth, but he can't focus on anything except the fact that she's still alive. "No offense," Lexie Grey smiles, "but I was really hoping you'd be Mark."

.

Blankets, gauze, thick fabric… Anything to pack a wound. Seat cushions, carpets, upholstery… Anything to pack a wound. _And Lexie._ His heart quickens at the thought of her. _Lexie._ Immediately, his head starts swiveling. _Where could she be?_ He thinks desperately. He's faced with forest and burning wreckage at every turn; never her. _But she has to be here somewhere. She has to._

His eyes zero in on something he's searching for a moment later—but it's his other objective. He almost ignores it, wishing instead that he could continue looking for her. _Arizona needs you, too, _he reminds himself, jogging quickly to the ripped-up blankets. He feels a smile take place on his face. _Perfect, _he thinks. _These will work. _When he gets closer, he stares at the fabric, confused as to why it seems to be ripped in such even sections. _The crash wouldn't have done this. _It takes him a moment to realize that _someone_ must have done it. Someone was here before him. A person. A survivor.

Not two seconds later does he hear the voices.

.

Derek Shepherd can't help but smile. His smile soon stretches to a grin; he can't hold back his joy and having found her alive. A second later, he leans down, pressing a quick but firm kiss on his sister-in-law's forehead. "God, it's great to see you, Little Grey."

Lexie smiles back, her eyes momentarily falling closed at his affection. It isn't took big of a leap for Derek to realize she must be imagining someone else in his place. _Hell, she told me she was already. _"So," he smiles, catching her eyes as they open, "it seems you aren't very grateful to see that I'm your rescuer."

She smiles back. "I thought you'd appreciate the honesty."

"And I do," Derek replies. He looks her in the eye, growing serious. "And don't worry," he informs her, "as soon as I find Mark, I'll bring him straight to you."

The smile falls off Lexie's face. "You mean you haven't seen him?"

Derek grimaces, immediately realizing the folly of his words. "Lex," he begins, "the plane split, I—"

"But you haven't gone to look for him?" Lexie interjects, her worried voice rising to hysterical. "What if he's hurt? Or trapped? What if he's—he's—" She pauses to suck in a painful breath. "Oh, god, Derek, what if he's like me, what if he's hurt so badly he can't even—"

"I'm not hurt."

.

Though Mark can feel the stares of the other two men on him as he approaches the part from the back, he can't be bothered to meet their eyes. Even when his best friend nearly tackles him in a bear hug, still he can't focus, not on anything. Anything but _her, _that is.

He watches as a smile breaks out on her face as he steps closer, crouching down to meet her eyes. "Hey," he whispers, his critical gaze roaming over her for injuries. He breathes easy when it seems like she isn't too horribly injured. He reaches out, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. "How've you been, Lex?"

She almost laughs at the mundane question. "I'm okay," she whispers back. She squeezes his hand quickly before shaking it off. She sees the hurt momentarily flash in his eyes at the rejection, but it disappears a second later when she reaches up and places her hand on his cheek instead.

"I was hoping you'd come," she whispers, stroking his dusty skin with her fingertips. "I was hoping you'd be the one to save me." She smiles at him, not having any idea where this bravery to touch him, to speak so honestly with him, is coming from. _Maybe it's because I know I'm going to die, _she thinks. But then he smiles back, and she banishes that thought. _It's because of him._

A quiet throat clearing breaks up her thoughts, and their moment. She wants to glare at Derek for doing so, but she somehow manages to resist the urge. "I hate to interrupt," he begins apologetically, "but Mark, I have to talk to you—"

"Don't worry about it, Shep," Mark replies loudly, his eyes flickering to his best friend. "Not like there's anything going on here anyway." He grins quickly at Lexie, and while holding her dark gaze, he removes her hand from his cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to the center of her palm. Lexie stares at him, feeling her heart nearly burst at the gesture. For the first time in days, she feels halfway confident that Derek might be right—that Mark might still feel something for her. Maybe something close to what she feels for him, even. Her heart soars at the idea and all at once, she wants to say something, to do something, but in less than a second, he's disappeared onto two legs instead of four and all she has to look at are three pairs of feet and shins while their voices drift down to her from above.

.

Roy gets to the question before Derek can even begin to open his mouth. "Have you found any other survivors?"

Mark is about to reply, but the man's unfamiliarity stops him. "I'm sorry," he begins, "but who are you?"

"Roy Keller," the man replies. "I'm the pilot. I'd shake your hand, but…" He nods towards his right side. "I'm pretty sure I broke it."

Mark frowns, stepping forward to look at the man's arm. "Do you mind…?"

"Not at all," Roy replies, offering the injured limb for examination. He flinches slightly when he lifts it with his left, but Mark is too focused on the laceration to notice.

"When we get out of this," he begins, still intently studying the tear across the man's skin, "I'll be stitching you up for free."

"You—" Roy breaks off, glancing to Derek for an explanation.

The neurosurgeon steps forward with a smile. "This is Mark Sloan," he presents. "And he just happens to be one of the top plastic surgeons in the country."

"World," Mark corrects.

Derek grins. "Right. Sorry, one of the top plastic surgeons in the _world._"

"Wow." Roy swallows, processing this. When Mark finishes looking at the man's arm, he meets the pilot's grateful gaze. "So after—after they set the bone, you can sew me up? Make the scar look all pretty?"

Mark almost laughs. "I'll make sure there's _no _scar, actually. It's sort of my specialty." He grows serious a second later. "I promise you that. No scar, no mark, no nothing."

Roy tries to hold his tongue; he knows he shouldn't question such generosity, but he can't take something so seriously so easily and freely. "Why?"

Mark's answer is simple. "Because you found her." Roy watches as the plastic surgeon's eyes flit almost unconsciously to where the girl is trapped beneath the plane, and he realizes what must be going on. "And fixing your arm is the best way I can repay you." He smirks, rubbing the back of his neck. "To tell you the truth, I half wish you were more cut up. I feel like I'm not doing enough by just repairing your arm."

"You'll be doing more than enough, trust me," Roy replies. He remembers himself a moment later. "But—the other survivors?" He asks quickly. "Have you seen any?"

"I didn't see the co-pilot or the stewardess," Mark tells the pilot. He turns to Derek. "Meredith's safe," he informs his best friend immediately. "She's with Cristina and Arizona—who I actually have to get back to."

Derek swallows his rising joy and relief at the fact that his wife is safe, focusing instead on Mark's latter statement. "Arizona?" He wonders. "What's wrong—"

"Mer?" Lexie's voice sounds from nearly beneath their feet.

"Lex?"

"Mer's okay?" She asks again, her voice strained with hope. "She's—She'll live?"

Mark nods to Derek before bending back down. He finds Lexie's wide eyes immediately. "She'll definitely live," he replies. "She's got some bumps and bruises, but all things considered…"

"She'll live," Lexie finishes in an awe-filled whisper.

Mark nods. "Yeah, she will." He takes a breath. "But I've gotta go back to them now, okay? Arizona—"

"What happened?" Lexie whispers.

Mark doesn't skirt the truth. "She's got a large piece of the plane in her side. Shrapnel, about a foot long, more than a couple inches in."

"Oh, god."

"She'll be okay," Mark fibs. "But I promised I'd go back to them with something to pack her wound as soon as I found it."

Lexie nods. "Of course," she replies. "Go."

Mark stares at her, suddenly feeling his heart rise in his throat. If he leaves, her already fragile situation seems so much more precarious. Any second, she could be crushed. One wrong move, she could bury herself. And he wouldn't be there with her. He tries to force himself not to panic, but it's difficult. The more time that passes…

"Go." Her quiet whisper interrupts his dreadful thoughts. "Go," she says again, focusing on his intense blue eyes. "Go take care of her."

"I want to take care of you." The words are out of his mouth before he can take them back; and once they're out, he doesn't even want to rescind them. He sees that smile bloom out across her face, and it makes him want nothing more than to whisper sweet words to her forever, to make her feel better any way that he can. He wants to get her out, get her home. Now.

"I'll be back," he promises, his heart sticking in his throat. "Once… Once we get Robbins sorted out, I'll come straight back. To you."

"Okay." Lexie closes her eyes for a moment, taking a quiet breath. "Go now," she whispers. "Go now and come back soon."

"I will." He stares deep into her eyes. "I'll be back. I promise you that."

"I'll be right here," she smiles weakly. "And I believe you." She swallows her rising emotions, jerking her head in the opposite direction. "Go, Mark."

.

_Author's Note: Please leave me a review! You all know how much I love them :)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

_Author's Note: Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! Quickly, to angelgrl, an anon I can't reply to personally: I'm really glad you liked all the Mark/Lexie stuff in the last chapter. The scenes you mentioned were some of my favorite to write. I'm very pleased they came across as in-character :)_

_Pease enjoy this chapter, everyone!_

.

"There he is!" Cristina nearly shrieks in triumph, spotting Mark careen down one hill and jog his way toward their small encampment.

"Hey, Mark," Arizona calls weakly, turning her head to catch sight of him as he nears.

"Hey," he grins back, carefully depositing all of the blankets and strips of gauze-like material on the least-dirty part of the ground. "Look what I found." Cristina and Meredith automatically congregate around him, sorting through the materials. Arizona ignores them, and the life-saving material, instead focusing on the man that brought them and who he must be worried sick about.

"Mark," Arizona whispers. She reaches out, clutching his arm as she stares at him with great concern. "Mark, did you find her?"

He pulls back, sighing softly as he sits in the grass next to the pediatric surgeon. "Yeah, Robbins, I did." He almost smiles when her eyes fill with emotion.

"Thank god," she whispers.

"You—found her?" Meredith chokes out, a hand coming to cover her mouth as she looks up from the supplies. "Oh my god, is she—"

"She's… okay," Mark replies diplomatically. He doesn't have the heart to tell his best friend's wife how bad off she really is. So instead, he meets Meredith's gaze and changes the subject. "Derek's with her, as is the pilot." He points the way he came, up the ridge. "Go straight for about three hundred yards, and you'll come upon the wreckage from the other half of the plane. Derek, Roy, and Lexie are there." He walks around to Arizona's other side, joining Cristina as she separates fabrics for packing the pediatric surgeon's wound. He stares at Meredith for a moment, watching relief and trepidation cross her features in equal measure. "Go," he tells her. He can see she's horribly torn between all her responsibilities, and she doesn't need to be. "Yang and I will take care of Robbins," he informs her. "Derek already put the splint on Roy, so if you three can take care of Lexie, I—"

Mark breaks off when he's tackled by Meredith's surprisingly strong hug. He chuckles softly, patting her on the back before she pulls away. For a second, her face hovers before him, and he's half-worried she's going to kiss him as a means for expressing her gratitude. But she merely hugs him tight again, gets to her feet, and promises Arizona and Cristina that she'll be back soon. Cristina doesn't reply, too focused on her work already, and Arizona simply yells at her to _go, already!_

.

"Derek?" Meredith's shout spreads out into the deceptively empty woods. "Derek? Derek, where—"

"Meredith?" Derek calls, picking his way gingerly through the woods at the sound of her voice. He falters to a halt when he sees her, finally—and _she's alive. _"Mer," he chokes out, supporting himself with a hand on the nearest tree.

"Oh, thank god," she cries, racing across the forest floor to get to him. Her body crashing into his in a desperate hug, and he has to reposition his feet beneath him so they don't fall to the ground.

"Ow, ow, ow."  
She backs off immediately. "Are you—"

"My ankle," he replies, glancing down at it. "I think I've broken it. Well, fractured it, at the least." When he looks back up, he's surprised to find his wife's eyes filled with tears. "Hey," he murmurs, stepping closer. "Mer, it's _okay_." He gives her a warm smile. "I'm going to be fine, Meredith, you don't need to—"

"I could've lost you," she chokes out, lifting her hands to hold his face in her vise-like grip. "You were on the other side of the plane, you could've died—"

"Mer." He speaks quietly, calmly. He takes her hands in his, gently prying them away from his face. He squeezes them firmly. "I'm not dead. I've got a busted ankle, but I'm not dead, okay?"

She nods, unable to stop the tears from falling anyway. "Okay," she whispers back, just so he understands. He smiles, shaking his head slowly in wonder, just before pulling her close and settling his lips atop hers.

.

Lexie turns her head towards the opening when she hears two pairs of feet crunch across the dirt and leaves. "Mark?" She calls hopefully, craning her neck to get a better view. She struggles to stifle her disappointment when she sees Derek instead.

"Nope," he smiles. "Just me again. But I did bring someone…"

Lexie feels her breath catch when her sister crouches down beneath the plane, taking the place of her husband as he gets to his feet. "Mer," she whispers, not knowing what to say. "Oh, Mer, you're…" _You're alive._

"You know," Meredith smiles, leaning close to her sister, "Mark asked for you, too. The second he woke up."

Lexie's eyes light up and a weak smile pulls at her bloodied lips. "He… He did?" She whispers, not having seen this coming.

Meredith nods, reaching out to wipe some of the blood off of her sister's face. "Yeah, he did, Lex." She catches the younger woman's eye. "He was very disappointed when he saw that it was me and not you leaning over him." Meredith pauses, and Lexie watches as the blonde seems to weigh her words for a minute. "I don't know what's going on with you two, Lex," she murmurs finally, "but as of right now, my first job is to get you out of here alive and sent safely back home, okay?"

"Right," Lexie whispers, glancing away. "Of course."

Meredith smiles at her sister's embarrassment. "And my second," she continues in an undertone, "is to make sure that you go home with him."

Lexie forces a smile for her sister's benefit, chuckling softly to dispel just how badly she wants her sister's plans to come to fruition. "He… has a girlfriend."

"So? You're the one he's in love with." Meredith watches with a smile as her sister's eyes widen in shock.

"He—He told you that?"  
"No," Meredith replies slowly. She shrugs a moment later. "But he didn't need to. Actions speak louder than words, and he wants nothing more than to save you."

Lexie manages a small smile. "I want him to save me, too," she whispers.

Meredith grins. "Well, you'll have to settle for me, Derek, and that pilot for now. Mark's taking care of Arizona along with Cristina, but…" She smiles happily. "Let us see if we can get you out of here and up on your feet by the time he gets back, hm?"

Lexie forces a smile. She tries wiggling her toes, her legs, her thighs, but once again—there's no feeling beneath her waist. She turns to her sister, feeling her heartbeat pick up a bit. "Do it fast, okay? I—I don't know how much longer I can stay pinned under this thing."

Meredith nods. "We'll do it as fast as we can." She backs up, looking her sister in the eye just before she crawls to her feet. "I love you, Lex," she tells the brunette. "And I'll get you out of here alive, okay?"

Lexie nods. "Course you will," she replies. "What are big sisters for, anyway, if not to lift thousands of pounds of metal off their little sisters?"

Meredith smiles back. "I'd do it by myself with my bare hands if I could."

.

Derek takes a seat next to Roy a couple yards from the girls. He studies the large walkie-talkie-looking device in the pilot's hands for a few seconds before wondering, "Any luck?"

The pilot shakes his head, fiddling with another dial on the device. He lifts it to his ear, but all he can hear is static. "Nothing's coming in yet."

"It's a radio?"

"It's a transmitter," he replies. "We're still technically on course, so that means we're still in range. And the crash didn't bust it; it still works…"

Derek sighs in understanding. "There's just no one on the other end, then?"

Roy glances to the surgeon. "Looks like it." He watches the man swallow nervously and quickly amends, "For now, at least. I'll try again in a half-hour, an hour… I'll keep trying. Someone will hear it."

"Hope so."

"Derek?" A voice calls. Both Derek and Roy look up to find Meredith standing before them. After quick introductions, she begins to lay out her plan. "It can't be that heavy," she reasons quietly, sneaking a peek over her shoulder at the hunk of metal slowly crushing her sister to death. "I think if we all try, all three of us, maybe we can budge it."

"Budge it?" Roy repeats skeptically, looking over the tail end of the plane as well.

"We don't have enough manpower to lift it off her, obviously," Meredith replies, agreeing with his skepticism. "But we do have enough strength to lift it high enough for Lexie to shove herself out, I think."

Roy glances between the two, his eyes finally settling on the neurosurgeon. "And what do _you_ think?"

Derek sighs, rubbing the side of his face tiredly. "I… I think it's our best shot, honestly." He nods to the transmitter in the pilot's hands. "Until we can get that thing working, what choice do we have except to try and get her out?"

The rest of the group nods, and they slowly make their way to the other side of the clearing. They take a few minutes to explain the plan to Lexie, who eagerly accepts their ideas. She only has one question when they finish laying out the details. "What… What about Mark?"

"He's taking care of Arizona," Meredith replies. "Him and Cristina are making sure most of her blood stays in her body."

Lexie nods slowly, digesting this. Derek catches her eye; he knows that wasn't what she was asking.

"And Lex," Derek smiles, "you told him already, remember? He knows."  
Lexie forces a smile. "Yeah, I know he knows." _I'm waiting for him to say it back._

"I'm sure he loves you too, Dr. Grey," Roy interjects from the back. Meredith and Derek's heads whip around so quick the pilot was half-sure they'd snap off. All pairs of eyes are trained relentlessly on him, waiting for an explanation. "What?" He wonders defensively. He shrugs, looking between the older couple. "You can't honestly think I wouldn't notice." He looks to Lexie. "Am I right, Dr. Grey? You worried you'll die before you get to hear Dr. Sloan say those three little words?"

"I…" Lexie swallows, uncomfortable under such public scrutiny from a virtual stranger. Her eyes flick from face to face, but neither Derek nor Meredith has any idea how to intervene on her behalf.

"Well, guess what," Roy continues a moment later. "It doesn't matter." He leans forward, locking eyes with Lexie. "And you want to know why?" He pauses, staring at her. "Because you aren't dying. Not in the next ten minutes while we work to get you out and not in the next hour, once you're out_._" His gaze never waves from hers as he speaks. "We are _going_ to get you out, Dr. Grey," he informs her firmly, his voice and face full of nothing but hard determination. "And then once we get you out," he continues, "we're going to contact those emergency services and get you a nice, pain-free ride home. And you know what's going to happen once you get home?" He smiles. "Because I do: he's going to say it. He's going to walk up to you and he's going to say it. He'll tell you he loves you, and you'll say you love him too… You guys can even be all disgustingly mushy about it and I promise I won't make fun of you afterwards." He smiles, and the warmth from the gesture lifts to his eyes. "You and Mark will have a lifetime to tell each other how much you love one another," he tells her softly. "Once we get you out, I promise you'll have that, all that and more."

Lexie stares into this not-so-strange stranger's eyes, feeling a smile spread out across her face. "A…lifetime together," she murmurs, almost half to herself. "That… That sounds so nice," she whispers. "Really… Really nice."

Roy grins. "It does, doesn't it?" He gets to his knees. "So whaddya say? The first step to getting that nice future with the fancy wedding and the picket fence and the two-point-five kids is getting you out from under this plane… Wanna get started on making that happen or what?"

Lexie nods, determined more than ever now. "Let's go," she instructs. "I'm ready."

"That's what I like to hear," Roy replies, getting to his feet. Meredith and Derek join him a moment later, and they all brace themselves—Lexie included—to try and get her free.

.

"We need some more bandages," Cristina notes. She looks over to Mark, who's leaning with his back against a tree, nearly asleep. "Can you go and get some?"

Mark sighs tiredly, his eyes blinking open. He debates refusing, but realizes it might be a good idea for him to get back on his feet. "Fine," he mutters, lurching into an upright, standing position. "I'll be back soon," he mumbles, wiping the fatigue from his face and heading towards the other part of the wrecked plane.

He's stumbling halfway up that now-familiar ridge between the two crash sites when he hears a high-pitched scream cut through the empty air. He feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, feels his blood boil to the surface and his ears fill with a ringing sound. He recognizing the voice without having to be told, and with his exhaustion replaced with adrenaline spiked with pure terror, he sprints to the tail section of the plane, making it in record time.

"What happened?" He demands in a shout, looking at his best friend for an explanation. He barely has time to recognize the tears on Meredith's face before he asks again. "_What happened?"_

"She—"

"M—_MARK_." His name escapes from Lexie's mouth in a strangled, pain-filled sob.

He doesn't even waste time in throwing Derek a dirty look before rushing to her side. "Lex," he whispers, relieved at least to see her alive. "Lex—"

"M—My leg," she cries desperately, scrabbling to get at the limb now trapped dangerously under the piece of plane. "Mark, please, my leg. It's broken, the whole thing, every bone—_Please, _it's killing me. _Get me out,_" she cries. "You have to get me out, please! Please, Mark, get me out!" It's now that Mark sees that the metal has shifted; where it seemed to be merely balancing on her earlier in the day, it is now crushing half of her body. He jumps to his feet in an instant, turning on the man closest to him.

"_HOW_," he screams, "did this _happen_?"

"We were trying to move it," Derek begins, "to get her out and—"

"AND YOU BROKE HER FUCKING FEMUR, SHEPHERD!" Mark bellows, his face going red with rage. "THE STRONGEST BONE IN BER BODY, THE MOST PAINFUL TO BREAK—YOU THREE WENT AND _SNAPPED_ _IT_!"

"I DIDN'T DO IT ON PURPOSE, IF THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE IMPLYING," Derek shouts back. "I WOULD NEVER—"

"THEN TELL ME HOW IT HAPPENED," Mark interrupts in a roar. "Tell me how you broke her entire _leg_!"

Derek takes a series of deep breaths, giving them both a few minutes to calm down. "We had a plan," he begins, his voice much quieter now, and raspy after the yelling. He clears his throat, but it doesn't help much. "We had a plan: Meredith, Roy, and I were going to lift up the tail when Lexie pushed herself out from under it."

"And you let it fall back down on her." Mark's cold, hateful judgment hurts worse than the truth.

"No, we did not," Derek replies, feeling oddly calm now. "We lifted it, and she tried to move. She couldn't. We tried again, and again… Still nothing. She couldn't get out, so we let the piece fall those few inches back into its original place."

"And?"

Derek closes his eyes momentarily. "And, just as we were stepping away… The whole thing shifted."

"You set it off," Mark growls menacingly.

Derek nods, feeling tears prick his eyes, knowing the horrible pain he caused a woman he considers family. "Probably," he chokes out. "Like I said, we didn't mean to, it just… It shifted, and what could we do? We could barely hold half of it up when it was balanced, but after all the weight shifted to one side? We didn't have a hope of relieving the pressure."

"She's worse off than she was before."

Derek nods. "I know." He swallows. "Mark, I swear, we—"

"Shut up," he growls. "_Shut up_, Shepherd, don't ever—"

"Mark," Lexie's weak voice interrupts. Mark Sloan feels his heart clench at how vulnerable she sounds—how vulnerable she _is_. He crouches down beside her again; sparing a quick second to throw a murderous glare toward his best friend.

"Hey," he whispers, lying down beside her. "Hey, Lex—"

"Tell them," she grounds out, jerking her head towards the two pairs of shins she can see.

Mark looks over his shoulder, unsure of her command. "What—"

"Tell them to radio for help. I know the pilot has one, and I—_Oh, god,_" she cries out in pain. "I need an ambulance, Mark. I need surgery. I don't know how long I—I can last like this."

"Lex, you'll be fine—"

"Mark," she interrupts in a growl, trying to stay fierce to ignore the pain, "don't argue with me and don't tell me I'll be fine. I won't, not if I don't get to a hospital." She takes a sharp breath. "I know he has a radio," she continues a second later. "Use it to call for help and get me out of here, get us all out of here. I'll bleed out if you leave me here, and there's no way to fix this break while I'm pinned." She pauses to take a breath, and at the break in focus, she feels the world start to crumble. She feels _herself _start to crumble. Tears leak out of her eyes as more and more of her strength falls victim to the all-encompassing pain. "Please, Mark," she whispers raggedly, her voice choked and strangled. "Please don't let me die here. I _can't _die here. Not—Not here. Not now."

He holds her tortured gaze for a second more before reluctantly backing out of the small space. "Roy," he calls immediately, jumping to his feet the moment he's clear of the tail. "You—"

"Already on it," the pilot replies, his voice drifting across the clearing from his perch in the nose of the plane. "I started calling again the second her leg broke."

Mark sighs slowly in relief, feeling the rage drain out of him. "Thank you," he manages to say.

"Save it," Roy replies, fiddling with the communication device. "Until this thing starts working—"

A static-filled cracked interrupts his sentence. Mark and Derek freeze in place, their eyes glued to the transmitter. "O?" A man's voice sounds from the other line. "Hell—Hello?"

Derek and Mark sprint across the clearing at the sound of the voice; they're skidding to a halt just as Roy's relaying their situation. Meredith appears at their side a moment later.

"We were in a pane crash," the pilot explains hurriedly. "Flight 325 from Seattle, Washington to Boise, Idaho. We're somewhere in the woods of Mt. Rainier National Park, by my best guess. There were nine people on the flight. One is dead, and we have four—"

"Are you missing your stewardess?"

"Who gives a shit if we're—" Mark nearly explodes in impatience, certain that there are more important things and people to be focusing on, but Roy cuts him off with a sharp raise of his hand.

"Yes," the pilot replies, bending closer to the transmitter. "Why? Has someone found her?"

"We received a 911 call a few hours ago; a couple hikers saw a woman fall out of the sky—"

"Jesus Christ," Derek whispers.

Roy ignores his emotions, focusing instead on what's really important: "Is she alive?"

"Not sure. Last I heard, she was in the ICU," the voice crackles. "You have injuries too, I'm sure. We'll send a team to your location as soon as we can."

Mark looks to Roy, surprised. He gestures to what he perceives to be a slightly souped-up walkie-talkie. "This dinky thing has GPS?"

The pilot almost smiles. "Doesn't everything have GPS these days? Come on, it's a radio transmitter built for a plane. Of course it has GPS." He presses the talk button the radio a second later, speaking into it. "Send two helicopters and some kind of crane, lift, or lever… We've got a woman trapped under the tail of the plane here and we can't get her out by ourselves."

"Copy that. What sort of injuries have your people sustained? Do we need a burn unit or any other specialized response team?"

"Negative," Roy replies. "Our worst are some broken limbs; arm, ankle, and entire left leg."

"And a woman with a foot of shrapnel embedded two to three inches in her side," Mark interrupts.

Roy's head whips around to look at the plastic surgeon's, but he isn't angry this time. "What?" He whispers. "Who—"

"Excuse me?" The voice crackles. "Can you repeat that last one?"

Mark gestures to the radio, obviously asking permission to use it. Roy hands it over without hesitation, clicking the talk button. "One of the passengers has a foot-long shaft of metal, a piece of the plane, embedded in her side. The wound is at least two inches deep. We've packed it to stop the bleeding, but there's nothing else we can do here."

"Copy that. I've already sent for the search and rescue and EMTs by helicopter. ETA is in an hour." The crisp voice falters a moment. "You… packed the wound? What are you, some kind of doctor or something?"

"Our plane was made up mostly of a surgical team headed to Boise," Mark replies. "We may not be trauma surgeons, but we all know how to deal with a disaster situation if presented with one."

"Lucky," the operator replies. "If my plane had to fall out of the sky, I'd pray for nothing less than a group of surgeons to fall with me."

Mark doesn't waste time replying; he tosses the radio to the pilot and walks away without another word as Roy continues fleshing out the details with the man on the other end. _Lucky, lucky, lucky. _The word rings in Mark Sloan's head, growing louder each time he thinks of it. Before he even realizes where he's gone, he's crouching under the tail of the plane, forcing a smile for the woman trapped beneath it.

"Mark…" Her voice trembles, barely audible even though they're lying just inches apart.

"Hey," he smiles, finding her dark eyes beneath the plane. "You holding up okay in there?" He doesn't wait for her to reply. "The transmitter worked, Little Grey. They'll be sending emergency services our way any minute now."

"How—How long will it take?" She grits out, clenching her teeth against the debilitating pain.

"An hour, they said." His eyes roam over her; he's half-relieved her leg is hidden beneath the plane. At least he doesn't have a gaping, bloody wound to stare at. But it also makes her condition and chance of survival much more difficult to measure. He ignores questions of her survival. _She'll survive. She'll be fine._ He inches closer to her, nearly crawling across the dirt to be near to her. He holds out his hand. "Squeeze this," he instructs. "Squeeze until it doesn't hurt anymore."

She almost laughs, a smile turning up her lips for a half-second at the ridiculous demand. "I'll break every bone in your hand if I do that."  
He smiles back, his eyes gentle as they focus on her. "Take my hand," he presses, offering it to her. "I don't care if you break all of my bones or none of them. I don't want you to be in pain."

She shuts her eyes so he doesn't see her rolling them at him. "Holding your hand won't take away my pain, Mark."

"Pretend," he replies. "Humor me."

She sighs, opening her eyes and shifting her body slightly to takes his hand in hers. Just when he feels her start to apply pressure, her grip slackens and disappears. "Give me your other hand," she instructs. "If I really do hurt you, it's better that it's your left hand I crush to a bloody, fleshly pulp and not your right."

"Well, well, well…" He grins, rolling on his side to replace one hand with the other. "Look who's putting my career first."

"What can I say?" She jokes weakly. "I'm a fan of your work, Dr. Sloan."

He briefly contemplates shouting, screaming, calling out 'uncle!' when her hand closes around his… But instead he grits his teeth, holds her gaze, and smiles—widely and happily. He knows that the pain she's inflicting on him can't be even the smallest fraction of what she's enduring, so he forces himself to stay strong, to stay happy, and to keep smiling.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually, he sees the tiniest smile tug of the corners of her mouth, too.

.

"Arizona," Meredith calls ten minutes later, racing down the hill, "Cristina! Where—"

"We're right where you left us, Dr. Grey," Arizona replies sourly. She sighs. "Haven't moved an inch."

Meredith Grey is grinning when she comes to a stop beside the two surgeons, despite the woman's dull tone. "Help is coming."

Both Cristina and Arizona's faces go blank. "What?" Arizona manages to croak.

"Help," Meredith replies happily, her smile widening. "Help is coming! Ambulances for you and search and rescue for Lexie, EMTs for the rest of us…" She closes her eyes, nearly praying in gratitude. "Help is coming."

"You hear that?" Cristina smiles at the pediatric surgeon, eager to see the usually bouncy woman back up to her usual standards. "Help is on the way. Ambulances. They'll take care of you and get you home to Callie and Sofia in no time."

"Oh, god," Arizona replies, surprising them all by laughing. "Yang is comforting me. I really _must_ be close to death."

"Oh, ha-ha," Cristina mutters distastefully, looking away.

Meredith can't help but smile. "Don't worry," she assures the pediatric surgeon. "You aren't close to death." She examines the wound for a moment. "Mark and Cristina packed that thing expertly."

"Makes sense," Arizona notes dryly, "seeing as they're surgeons, it _is _their area of expertise."

"Wow," Cristina whistles. "Bad-attitude Robbins. Never thought I'd live to see the day."

"Oh, shut up, Yang," Arizona snaps, her eyes flying to the other woman. "You aren't the one with a piece of metal the size of your chest _stuck in your chest!_"

Cristina raises her hands in a gesture of peace. "Wait for the ambulance," she instructs, "and then all this will be over before you even believe it. It'll be a memory, just like a bad nightmare."

Arizona moans, leaning her head back until it hits the dirty ground. "I miss the days when _you _were my bad nightmare, Yang."

.

"How… much time?" Lexie whispers.

Mark turns his arm, twisting their joined hands to look at his watch. "Maybe three minutes. If we're holding by the hour estimate," he adds.

Lexie can hear the anxiety in his voice. She can see the tension in the muscles of his arms, see the fear in his eyes… She knows he thinks there's no way she's getting out alive. And the more time that passes without rescue, the surer she becomes that he's right.

.

"Okay, Greg, tell me what we're looking for here."

The co-pilot snorts, speaking into his headset so he can be hear over the rapid _fwap-fwap-fwap _of the helicopter's blades. "It's not that complicated, Ricky. Look for the burning wreckage and land the bird near the half-dead survivors."

"Actually," a paramedic interrupts from the back of the helicopter, "they said there weren't any burn victims, so the wreckage probably isn't going to be on fire."

Greg rolls his eyes. "Fine," he replies. "_Burned _wreckage, then. Look for the _burned _wreckage." He glances over his shoulder momentarily to meet the pesky paramedic's eye. "That terminology sit okay with you, Dr. Sola?"

"Perfectly fine."

The group continues flying for the next couple minutes in silence. Eventually the pilot sighs unhappily, circling the bird just fifty feet above the trees. "What gives?" Ricky wonders finally. "These are the coordinates. We should be right on top of them." He frowns when he hears his co-pilot laughing. "Is my failure in some way _funny_ to you, Lupeck?"

"Not at all," Greg grins. He angles the helicopter's nose downward, backing up about ten feet. "It's just that you were right," he informs the pilot, nodding towards the ground hundreds of feet on the ground below them, and the smashed remains of what once was a plane. "We're right on top of them."

.

_Author's Note: Hey, rescue is on the way! Woo! :) So what did you all think of this chapter? You guys have done such fantastic jobs of leaving me great reviews for the last few chapters, please continue to leave me some more! I love hearing everyone's thoughts on the story :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews! To the anon skyfire, I'm really happy to hear that I'm healing some of the damage Shonda did to you. As I've told some of you, I've pretty much replaced the "official" finale with this story in my head, among others. Who says one writer's interpretation of events is more valid than another's? ;) Please enjoy!

(Also, I know Julia's supposed to be on a business trip or something… Just ignore that. She's at the hospital.)

_._

_"You're right. We're right on top of them."_

Ricky can't help but laugh, staring down at the obvious wreckage beneath him that he'd almost completely overlooked.

"Thank god for co-pilots, eh?" Greg grins.

Ricky ignores him with a smile, instead focusing on slowly maneuvering the helicopter to a clear area next to the crash site. "Radio the other chopper," he orders, "tell them to head to the other half of the plane, to deal with the woman with that piece of plane in her stomach."

"Roger, sir," Greg replies, taking on a more professional tone and manner. He repeats the instructions into his telecommunicator.

"Side," Dr. Sola corrects, just as the transmission goes through. "The survivors said it was in her side, not her stomach."

"Well, she's not our concern, now is she?" The pilot replies, slowly lowering the helicopter to the ground with painstaking care. "We've got the lady trapped under the tail of the plane, and I'm sure we'll be too busy dealing with her to wonder where _exactly _the other one got impaled with shrapnel." He glances briefly over his shoulder. "You got the Jaws of Life, Mr. Dietrich?"

The burly man at the back of the cabin nods. "Hydraulic spreader's in my hands. Take me to the tail."

His partner grins. "Ten bucks says you can't get her out in under twenty and have to call in the big guns."

Harry Dietrich grins, jumping out of the helicopter just as it hits the ground. "You're on," he shouts over the propellers. "And since when are _you_ the big guns, Ted?"

"Since you turned forty and became an old man, Dietrich!"

"That was _two _weeks ago!"

Ted grins. "And yet you're already starting to falter. Don't screw up this one. If you kill her, just remember that I get to hold it over you for _at least _the next two years."

"I'm not killing anyone," Dietrich replies. "I'll get her out and, more importantly, I'll get your ten bucks."

"We'll see."

.

"Excuse me?"

"There was a plane crash, sir—"

"I heard what you said," Owen nearly growls into the phone. "I—" He could swear his heart has stopped in his chest. "Are there survivors? Is Dr.—"

"That's why I called, sir," the woman replies. "There _are_ survivors. I'm pleased to inform you that every surgeon from your hospital is accounted for, and they're being flown in to our hospital as we speak."

He tries to bite his tongue to hold back the question, but it pops out anyway. "Do you know anything about Dr. Yang?"

"No. We don't have specifics on every passenger."

"But—she's alive?"

"As far as I know."

It isn't a definite answer, but it's better than nothing. Owen breathes a sigh of relief and focuses on what he should've been concerned about in the first place. "And everyone else—who's in critical condition? What are the injuries?"

"Mostly a lot of broken bones. The majority lucked out, considering. The worst is a…" He listens to the woman pause, knowing she must be looking off notes sent to her by the paramedics. "A Dr. Robbins," she continues, "and a Dr. Grey. The first has a very large piece of the plane embedded in her side and the second has a broken femur and fibula. Our paramedics are there right now—"

Hunt swallows, holding back his fear. "Do you know which Dr. Grey?"

"I'm sorry?" He can hear the woman's confusion through the phone.

"Do you know which Dr. Grey?" He repeats. "There are two; they're sisters."

"I'm sorry, I have no idea. We just got the names and injuries. But they'll be here in a few minutes," she continues, "so do you want me to call back when they're brought into the ER?"

"Don't bother," Owen replies, already getting to his feet. "I'll be there in two hours. Make sure all my people are alive when I arrive or there will be hell to pay."

.

"Oh my god," Cristina Yang whispers, staring up at the sky in awe as a rescue helicopter begins its descent towards them. "Oh my god."

"Yang…" Arizona moans from the ground a few feet away.

"They're… They're actually landing."

"Yeah, did you think Meredith was lying about that part?" She lets out a sharp laugh. "Maybe she thought it would be fun to screw with us while we waited for death in the wilderness?"

Cristina ignores her, staring wide-eyed as the chopper hits the ground. "We're _saved_," she breathes in relief.

Arizona Robbins begins to exhale loudly, attempting to express her impatience with other woman, but the breath catches halfway out her lungs. She looks down, glaring at the painful addition to her body that has made everything from breathing to moving a torturous struggle for her today.

"Maybe _you're _saved," Arizona mutters, "but I'm not counting my blessings until they get this damn piece of the plane out of my—"

"Ma'am," a voice interrupts. It's scratchy and muffled; she realizes he must be speaking through a headset. She turns towards the voice, and as her eyes fill with the sight before her, she no longer feels like mocking Cristina Yang's attitude.

"I don't want you to move, okay?" The voice, one she can now recognize as a woman's, calls across the clearing. She's running towards Arizona, her comrades following close behind with a stretcher and other medical equipment. She's bent down by Arizona's side in a second, studying the wound intently. "This thing is in you pretty bad. We've got a stretcher here, we're going to load you up onto it. I'm going to take you by your shoulders and my partner here is going to lift your legs. Just don't move, okay? Just be sure that you don't…" The woman's voice continues speaking, but Arizona Robbins stops listening. She wasn't planning on moving an inch, anyway.

For the first time since she first realized there was a piece of metal bigger than a textbook in her side, Arizona Robbins lets herself think. She thinks of her wife and her baby, and she barely feels the pain when they transfer her to the stretcher a moment later. She stares up into the trees and the sky beyond as they rush her to the helicopter. Cristina is babbling nearby, maybe crying or praying or shouting, but Arizona doesn't hear her, either.

All she hears is the rapid beat of wing blades, taking her away, and the sound of beeping machines, cataloguing her survival. She closes her eyes for a moment, letting some tears and a few quiet sobs escape.

"I'm saved," she whispers, smiling for the first time in what feels like years. "I'm saved."

.

"What do you _mean _there was a plane crash? How does a plane—How does that even—Where is—"

"Dr. Torres, please," Owen interrupts with forced placidity, "you need to _calm down._"

"You just told me that the plane _my wife _was on _fell out of the sky_!" Callie screams back. "How do you expect me to _calm down_?"

"She's alive," Owen informs her. "She's—"

"And Mark?" Julia interrupts, forcing herself to stay calm like Owen instructed. "Is he—" She can barely say the word. "A…alive?"

Owen nods, he glances at her, but she can't read the message in his eyes. Maybe he's simply grateful that she isn't shouting, too. "They're all alive, as far as I can tell. He may have a few broken bones; they didn't give me any specifics on him." He takes a breath, turning back to Callie. "But Arizona—"

"She's injured, isn't she?" Callie whispers, a hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, god, she—"

"Dr. Torres," Owen interrupts, "I will explain on the way. Please head up to the roof—"

"The _roof_?" Callie interrupts shrilly. "Why can't you just tell me here? Why the hell do we need to go to the roof—"

"_I,_" Owen calls, nearly shouting to be heard above her, "am flying to check on my people." He glances between the two women. "You two are both welcome to come, if you would like." He takes a sharp breath. "I just don't feel like sitting around here waiting for news, and seeing as you two both have loved ones who were on that plane, I didn't think you'd want to wait either." He pauses, taking a moment to look each woman in the eye. "The helicopter will be ready in thirty minutes. Meet me on the roof."

.

"Sir, you need to step away."

"Mark, come on. Move."

"Dr. Sloan, let them do their jobs. They'll take care of her."

"Please step back. Let us do our jobs, sir—"

Four voices. Four voices, all speaking to him at once, all using different words but ordering the same thing. _Leave her alone. _But he can't do that anymore. Not now, not while things are so much worse than they were, not while she's trapped… He doesn't know how he manages to ignore them all—especially when he hears someone start yelling and feels another try to pull him away. Or is it the same person? It doesn't matter. He looks into her eyes and nothing matters.

"I'm not going to move." He doesn't say it for them. Nothing's for them; it's all for her. He stares deep into her eyes, repeating the words. "I'm not going to move," he whispers, promising, "I'm not going to leave you."

A small smile curves up her lips, and he feels one of his own take shape on his face as her hand moves to cup his cheek. "Thank you," she whispers hoarsely. "I appreciate that, thank you, but I… I _need_ you to move. I need you to leave me, just…" She smiles again, grateful for his reluctance despite the toll it might be taking on her health. "Just for a bit."

He shakes his head, rejecting her words, but she can tell by the look on his face that his denial won't last too long. He can see, just as clearly as anyone, how bad off she is. How easily it could get so much worse. And he's standing in the way of her getting better.

"They can't work around you," Lexie explains patiently. She closes her eyes, focusing on her breathing and not the unbearable pain in her leg. "And I, I, Mark, I _want_ you to be here, I do, but…" She shudders, convulsing at the pain radiating up her body. He watches her body twitch and shake, his heart constricting at her pain.

"Sir," a hard voice interrupts, "you need to move. _Now._"

Mark shakes off the firm hand on his shoulder, crawling closer to her. He opens his mouth, but quickly closes it again upon realizing that he doesn't really have anything to say. Instead, he stares at her and hopes that his eyes can convey all that his mouth cannot. He watches her head twist towards him, studies the way her throat swallows before she speaks, and finally feels his body go weightless when her lips part.

"I love you." She says it quietly, murmurs it, almost. She isn't ashamed by the onlookers or eavesdroppers; her cheeks don't glow red and her eyes don't avoid his. No, her eyes stay locked with his. Just like his lips stay locked together. Just like the words stay lock inside him.

And he tries. He opens his mouth.

_I… I..._

He tries. God damn it,he _tries_. He tries to say it, he tries to tell her… Why is it so hard? After all of these years? He's said it a hundred times before, how hard is it to hit one hundred and one? He swallows, summoning his courage. _Just say it. _He blinks, slowly, as he takes a breath. When he opens them, he feels his entire body go rigid. She isn't looking at him, or them, or anyone. Her eyes are wide open, but they've gone dim, like she's lost the ability to see. Like she's died.

"Get him out of here _NOW_!"

There are voices screaming and shouting all around him, but Mark barely hears them. He doesn't even flinch, let alone fight back, when a pair of hands hook under his armpits and pull him away. He watches, as if from a world away, as they begin crowding around her.

"Stand back, I need space to lift it off—"

"I've got her shoulders; tell me when her legs are clear!"

"Three… Two… _One_—"

He hears the creak and groan of the metal as it's forced off of her. It makes a horrible crunching sound, but no sound is more terrible than the nothingness that surrounds her. The absence of sound, the utter quiet that must mean death.

.

"Blood—we'll need to do a transfusion—"

"Bring the stretcher over here!"

_Blood._

"She's severely dehydrated, get me an IV—"

_Blood._

"—a splint for her leg. Femur and fibula—"

_Blood, _she thinks, trying to clear her head. _Blood. _Meredith Grey swallows, stumbling to her feet. _They need to know about the blood—_

"She—She—She's B-positive!" The words tear out of her throat before she even knows quite what she's saying. She remembers, as if it were years ago, when Lexie had come to her about Thatcher's liver. Meredith had never wanted her father's blood. She'd never wanted anything to do with him, or with her. She'd spent most of her life forgetting he existed, and not even being cognizant of _her _existence.

But now she'd do anything_—anything—_to prolong that existence.

"She—She's B-positive," she calls again, grappling onto the first paramedic she can reach. "You have to give her the right blood!"

"We will," the man replies. He takes one of her hands in his free one, clutching it tight. He looks into her frantic eyes. "Ma'am, I promise," he replies calmly, "we'll give her the right blood."

Meredith nods, her head bobbing up and down erratically. She lets go of the man, backing away, suddenly realizing that she's in the way. She's a bother to those working and those in need. She isn't the doctor, she isn't the patient… She's _family_.

"That's—That's—my sister," Meredith chokes out. Not my _half_-sister. Not _my father's daughter._ None of that now. "She's my _sister._" She practically wails the last word, and yet it doesn't matter, because no one seems to hear her. Derek's too busy holding Mark back to help her, and Cristina and Arizona are too far away to help…

"Do I have to give you a talk about how everything's going to be okay, too?"

Meredith swallows her tears, wiping her face quickly as she turns to face the now-familiar face of Roy Keller. "What?" She manages to say, her voice warped and scratchy.

"Look," Roy smiles, putting a hand on her shoulder and turning her towards the EMTs. She feels her breath catch as they finally pull her out from beneath the wreckage. "She's going to be okay, Dr. Grey. She isn't stuck and that thing isn't killing her anymore. Remember, she just has a broken leg."

Meredith forces the doctor in her deep down inside. She bites back all the cold remarks about Lexie's probable internal bleeding, her crush injuries, and the damage to and from bone fragments in her leg… She swallows, she breathes, and she turns back to the pilot. And because he's smiling, she smiles back, and she believes. "She's going to be okay."

.

_One person, _the pilot called once they were ready. _I can fit one person, and then I'll come back for the rest of you._

Immediately, Derek drags Mark to his feet. And immediately, Mark protests. "Your ankle—"

"Shut up, Sloan." His words aren't harsh or angry; they are simply final. There will be no discussion, so long as he's still standing here. Derek nods towards the waiting helicopter, unable to physically force him to the open doors. "Go be with her."

He walks to the helicopter in a daze. He's barely strapped into the seat when it takes off. The wind whistles past the craft as they fly through the air, and he wonders briefly if they're breaking any speed limits. He doesn't linger on that thought long enough to realize that there probably no such things in air travel; he's caught sight of her, now, and nothing else matters.

She's lying strapped to a gurney between the seats. Her leg is in a splint from heel to hip, but besides that it doesn't look like she has any other major injuries. He closes his eyes at the sight of her, and even though he knows it might be worse that her injuries can only be seen from the inside, he's grateful that he doesn't have to see her, battered and bloodstained, on the outside. After today, he doesn't know if he could take that and still survive.

He bends over her, thankful that her head's positioned near him and not her feet, and closes his eyes. He can feel the tears hanging from his eyelashes, and he brings a hand to wipe them away before they fall. He doesn't care that the helicopter's crowded, he doesn't care that he can't recognize one face among the many in the cabin. No, he just stares at her, and he breathes, and he tries to think of a time when he knew everything would be okay.

He leans over her again, closer this time, and presses his forehead to hers. He mumbles the words, barely audible even to himself, and hopes against science and fact and nature that she can hear him, hopes that she'll come back to him just because he's finally managed to say the words: "I love you."

.

_"The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone."_

_Harriet Beecher Stowe_

_._

Author's Note: Do not fret, my friends, all is not lost and I promise I will update very soon! (Please keep in mind that I am not as cruel as Shonda… At least, I'm not when it comes to this fic.)

Please leave me a review; you all know how I love them :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**  
_Author's Note_: Thank you all for your reviews on the last chapter! I have some notes for the anons. If you aren't one, feel free to skip this and enjoy the chapter!

**zizis**: Thank you :) I'm really glad I'm able to clear away some of the shit Shonda threw at us in that finale. Just pretend this is the real thing :)

**Annie**: Sobbing? Do you need some tissues? First off, don't worry. I'm not killing Lexie. I wouldn't do that to you guys, especially how I've been preaching about how I've replaced this with the "real" finale. Lexie lives, and all will be well. Thank you so much for your review, you are so sweet. (PS: I hope you found some chocolate or ice cream!)

**angelgril**: Don't worry! Calm down, take a deep breath—I didn't kill her! Or anyone! Haha, I'm glad my OC could calm you down :) I hope you like the update!

**you know me:** Do I know you? Haha Thank you! I'm glad the Slexie drama seemed fitting. I hope this adds even more fuel to your life :)

**_Sorry for the long A/N, but I'd quickly like to close with the fact that I hope you like this chapter. I'm kind of nervous about it, so I hope it goes over well. Please leave me a review to let me know how I'm doing._**

.

For a second time today, they have to force him away from her. He's less dazed this time, but doesn't put up any more of a fight because of it. The EMT who held out an arm to stop him from following them into the OR even looked apologetic as he did so.

"Procedure," he had muttered, as if an explanation was necessary.

Mark had silently nodded, watching the surgeons and nurses through the small window in the scrub room door. He briefly contemplated forcing his way in, demanding to be in the room… But he knew that wouldn't help anyone. Least of all her.

"Is it okay if I wait here?"

The EMT lifts his chin just a fraction of an inch at the question, as if surprised to hear the survivor speak. "You can…" He frowns, looking over his shoulder. "There's a waiting room down the hall, you know."

Mark doesn't bother to follow the man's gaze. "I'd like to stay here."

"Well—"

"Hey, Jack, let's go!" The EMT's—Jack—head swivels at the shout. His eyes make contact with his fellows by the stairwell. "We've gotta go back for the others!"

He turns back to Mark, but he's already distracted from the man as he begins backing towards the stairs. "Just stay out of the way," Jack instructs. "We'll have some more waves coming in and—"

"I know when I'm needed and when I'm not," Mark interrupts. A smile flickers on his lips for the briefest second. "I'm a surgeon, remember?"

The EMT's eyes narrow at this, as if he'd forgotten. "Right. Well." He glances over his shoulder again, but his comrades have left; they're probably already on the roof by now. "Good luck. Hope she comes out okay."

Mark doesn't bother opening his mouth to reply. In less than five seconds, the man has disappeared the way his coworker's did. Mark sighs, leaning back against the wall for a moment before sinking down to the floor. He stares at the tiles beneath his feet for a short time before closing his eyes. "I hope she comes out okay too," he mumbles to no one in particular.

.

"Wait!" The word escapes Arizona Robbins' mouth like a plea; she wished it sounded like an order. She lifts her hand to hold the anesthesiologists' mask away.

"Ma'am, I know it's scary," the anesthesiologist replies kindly, "but we really need to start the operation as soon as possible—"

"It's not that," Arizona interrupts, already feeling the haze coming on. She wishes they would move the mask further from her face for this conversation. "I—I need you to call my wife."

The man holding the mask frowns. "Do you mean the woman who was on the plane with you? She's fine. She—"

"Not _Yang,_" Arizona nearly shouts. She feels like vomiting at the thought, but that could just be the painkillers. "My—_wife._ Callie—Calliope—" She takes a deep breath, trying to clear her head. It only makes things more muddled. But she has to get this out before she goes under. "Her name's—Calliope Torres. We have a baby. A little girl—"

"Dr. Robbins, we contacted your Chief from Seattle Grace-Mercy West. He's been informed of the crash and I'm sure he's spoken to your wife on the matter."

Arizona feels her head go light, and it isn't from the drugs this time. _They told Owen._ She sighs in relief. _He would tell Callie. The first thing he'd do; he'd tell Callie right away._ She closes her eyes. "Okay," she whispers, nodding to the anesthesiologist. "Get this thing out of my side."

.

Meredith's feet pound down the stairs so quickly and loudly, one might think there was a mob bearing down on her. In fact, though, there was no mob. There wasn't even anyone behind her. Derek and Roy had decided to take the elevators—it was Meredith's first choice, too—but after half a minute of waiting, she had had enough. Derek had seen the fear in her eyes when she'd turned to him, and he did nothing but squeeze her hand quickly and say '_Go_.'

Two minutes later, she's still flying down the stairs. Who knew a hospital could have so many floors, seemingly spaces so far apart? It took ages—to Meredith, at least—for her to get to the bottom floor. The doors opened to the chaos of the ER, and after doing a quick scan, Meredith knew Lexie wasn't there. Mark wasn't, either, but it was no surprise that she hadn't been able to find one without the other.

"Ground floor," she mutters under her breath, repeating what the EMTs had told her about emergency surgeries. _They should be on the ground floor._ She turns a corner, just about to pick up her pace into a jog or a sprint—when she stops dead.

_Oh, god…_

Everything around her falls silent—the cacophony of the ER dwindles and then disappears—as she stares ahead. Her heart rises to her throat and her vision tunnels; all she can hear is the blood rushing through her veins. All she can see is his muddied and bloodied body, hunched over. His eyes closed.

"_Mark._" His name stumbles out of her mouth, as broken as Lexie's leg and Derek's ankle and Roy's arm. She swallows hard, but her heart remains in her esophagus. "_Mark_," she calls again, finally finding the strength to step forward. She takes one step, two, three—and then she's running.

He looks up just as she skids to a halt before him. His eyes look bleary and tired. She searches his face for tears before remembering that he's Mark Sloan. _He's probably never cried in his life_.

"Mer?" He mumbles, squinting his eyes against the bright lights. His voice is groggy and his brain fuzzy with sleep. _Sleep, _he realizes, stumbling to his feet. "Is Lexie—"

"—not dead, is she?" Meredith chokes out, unable to hold back anymore. Her eyes grow wide and fearful, and she can already feel the tears threatening. "She can't be—"

"She's in surgery." He tilts his head, and as his words wash over her, she suddenly realizes—

"_She's_ _okay_?"

Mark frowns, looking over his shoulder. He stretches his neck, peering into the OR. He catches a glimpse of a crowd of doctors, her blue scrubs, but most importantly—her monitors, holding steady. Her blood pressure, holding steady. Her heart, holding steady. Her _life, _holding steady. "She's… fine," he answers slowly, turning back to Meredith.

The blonde's eyes overflow anyway, and before either she or Mark can say anything else, she's jumped forward, and wrapped him in her arms. Slowly, confused, he gently reaches up and pats her back awkwardly. "Thank god," she whispers over his shoulder, her eyes searching through that tiny window. "Oh, thank god." She swallows quickly, wiping her eyes, before pulling back.

Mark steps away immediately, working a bit to offer her a half-hearted smile. She grins back, but her happiness soon turns to anger. She steps closer, smacking his chest roughly. "If she's alive and fine, why did you scare me?" Her words come out a shout, but from the look in her eyes, Mark knows she's more grateful of Lexie's health than angry at his behavior.

"I didn't realize—"

"I came down and you were hunched over on the floor, I thought for sure she had—"

Mark might've laughed if the situation had been less serious. "I must've fallen asleep," he admits, not even remembering closing his eyes. "It's…" He glances at his watch, only half-surprised to see that it's nearly six at night. "It's been a long day." _And that was the first moment I had free from fearing certain death for myself and anyone and everyone I've ever cared about. No surprise I fell asleep._

Meredith nods, agreeing. She stares at him for a moment before lurching forward again, and hugging him tight.

"I think it's time you know," Mark mumbles over her shoulder, "that I'm not really the hugging type."

Meredith can't help but smile, and she pulls back a moment later. "Me neither." Her smile widens to a grin as she eyes the OR again. "But…" She takes a breath, finally feeling her heart settle back to its usual place. "She'll be okay," she sighs, closing her eyes. "Just like that pilot said, it's nothing more than a broken leg."

Mark nods, but doesn't say a word. He's not ready to think of things in such simple terms yet.

"I… I should get back to Derek."

Mark looks up, catching Meredith looking over her shoulder, obviously worried for her husband. "Go be with Derek," Mark tells her. _I'll wait for Lexie_.

Meredith frowns, but he knows her decision is already made. "You'll be okay here?" She clarifies anyway.

He nods, leaning back against the wall again. "I'll be fine. Go make sure my best friend's okay."

Meredith nods, slowly backing away. Just as she reaches the far end of the hall, just before she turns the corner, she looks over her shoulder. He's much like he was before—sitting slumped against the wall—but he's awake this time. He looks so tired and aged—running his hands through his hair and scratching the extra growth of his beard on the side of his cheek. She half-wishes she hadn't woken him. He'd be more peaceful asleep.

She watches him close his eyes and hang his head between his bent knees. _It's nothing more than a broken leg for the rest of us, _she reminds herself, _but it's life or death to him._

She reluctantly leaves to find her husband, the sight of his heartbroken best friend burned into her mind.

.

After meeting with the hospital Chief and the head of the ER, Owen stays as long as he can with the two women, which turns out to be approximately sixty seconds. "I… I have to go find Cristina."

Callie nods, immediately understanding. "I'm going to go to Arizona's OR." She glances to Julia. "Do you know where Mark is?"

She shakes her head. "No, I…" She trails off, surveying the ER. She catches sight of Meredith and Derek at the far end of the hall and a smile spreads over her face. "But I know how to find him." She looks to Callie, nodding towards the opposite direction. "You go find Arizona. Derek or Meredith will know here he is; I'll be fine."

.

Derek Shepherd sighs heavily, closing his eyes tiredly after his wife finishes relaying the story to him. "And he still hasn't said it."

"Hm?" Meredith murmurs, staring at him in confusion. "He didn't need to say it, I just knew. He thinks she's going to die, you can see it on his face. She isn't, of course, but he loves her, so—"

"If he loves her so much," Derek interrupts, anger seeping into his tone, "then he should _tell her already_."

Meredith frowns at her husband's angry words, but chalks it up to pain over his ankle, which a doctor is currently wrapping in a cast only a few feet from them. "I'm sure he has," she replies softly, "especially after what happened today—"

But Derek shakes his head, adamant. "No," he replies. "He hasn't. I heard _her_ say it. Just before she passed out, I heard her tell him, 'I love you.'" His mouth twists. "And he just stared at her."

"He was probably in shock—"

"It isn't the first time she's said it to him, Mer."

"Oh, of course it isn't," Meredith replies, her voice snapping a bit, confused as to why he's beating up on his already damaged best friend. "I'm just saying—"

"It isn't even the first time this week."

Meredith balks at this. "_What?_" She had thought this was the first time they'd reconnected. _When had Lexie said it before today? Why didn't I know?_

Derek sighs; he pauses for a moment, glancing to the man wrapping his ankle—but he soon realizes that this doctor, just like all the others in this hospital, have no idea who he is. For once, he's able to speak freely, with no fear of being overheard by the wrong person. He almost smiles at the thought, and briefly contemplates transferring hospitals for this foreign and daily privilege.

"Last week," he explains, keeping his voice quiet nonetheless to protect his friends' privacy, "she came up to him after work and told him she loved him."

Meredith swallows, not having seen this coming. "And he…" She licks her lips. "He didn't say anything?"

Derek shakes his head sadly. "I don't know why not," he mutters. "It's obvious he loves her back. He's told me. And after what I saw today—you know how he felt about leaving her alone under that plane. You saw how I had to literally _drag _him away."

Meredith can't help but smile, remembering what she'd told her little sister. "Lexie was the first person he asked for when he came back to consciousness, you know. It was like he didn't even see me. Or didn't want to see me."

"Exactly!" Derek replies enthusiastically. He sighs a moment later. "I don't see what's the problem. She loves him, he loves her… They were in a _plane crash… _How in the world has he not found enough courage to tell her how he feels? Especially when he knows she feels exactly the same way?"

Meredith frowns, thinking. "Well, he _does_ have a girlfriend, Derek…"

The neurosurgeon rolls his eyes. "Please," he mutters. "This is Mark and Lexie we're talking about. Another girlfriend or boyfriend doesn't get in the way of those two. We've seen that."

Meredith nods, a smile flickering on her lips. "I guess you're right." She looks to her husband. "So?" She presses after a moment. "What are you going to do about it?"

Derek's head whips around to face her, his features alarmed. "What am _I _going to do about it?" He repeats incredulously. "Why do _I _have to do anything?"

"Because," Meredith replies, as if it were obvious, "you're his best friend. And you're Lexie's big brother. It's your job to fix this."

Derek shakes his head; from the adamant set of his jaw, Meredith can tell her husband is serious. She sighs. "I'm not fixing anything," he replies. "I've pushed him, I've pushed her; _fate_ pushed them together in a life-or-death situation… The rest is up to them, now. They need to finish this themselves."

"Fine," Meredith mutters, obviously disgruntled. "But if those two end up apart and unhappy for the rest of their lives, I'm blaming you."

"Blame Mark," Derek replies, just as annoyed. "It's his fault for not marrying her the first chance he had."

Meredith snorts, rolling her eyes. "Please, like she would've said yes back then. She was twenty-four!"

Derek grins. "You never know, Mer. I'm sure Mark would've figured out _some _way to persuade her."

Meredith shoves his shoulder lightly with a disgusted glare. "Don't be gross, Derek Shepherd."

.

_Last week, she came up to him after work and told him she loved him._

Julia Canner closes her eyes. She remembers. All too clearly, she remembers.

The shocked look on the girl's face, as if she'd be caught red-handed… And the look on Mark's face. Or, more accurately, the fact that she couldn't _see _the look on Mark's face because he couldn't bring himself to even look at her. No wonder, after what he'd just been subjected to.

Julia takes a deep breath, and slips away the way she'd come before either Meredith or Derek have time to spot her. Their words bounce around her head as she makes her retreat.

_I heard her say it. I heard her tell him, 'I love you.'_

_ It's obvious he loves her back. He's told me._

_ Fate threw them together in a life-or-death situation._

_ They need to finish it themselves._

_ It's his fault for not marrying her the first chance he had._

_ He could've persuaded her._

Julia Canner's head is still reeling from all that she overheard when she spots Mark across the ER. She freezes, mid-flee, wondering what he's doing.

He's sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. She cocks her head to the side as she walks towards him, trying to understand what he's doing, sitting down there on the floor. But then her eyes rise and she realizes. _OR 3. Grey, L. Femur fracture repair._ She sighs softly, and continues walking forward.

A moment later, she's sinking down onto the floor next to him. He doesn't even look up until she speaks, and even when he does, she's only half-sure that he recognizes her.

"Hey."

She watches him swallow. "Hi." His voice is hoarse.

He doesn't make a move to kiss her or hold her hand or greet her or touch her in any way. It hurts, especially when she recalls what she overheard from Meredith and Derek's conversation, but she's more relieved that he didn't try to fake anything. No doubt he's been faking things with her for much too long.

"How is she?"

He barely flinches. "I don't know. They won't tell me."

She nods in understanding. "You're not family."

He stares at the floor. She'd expected him to respond with a crisp, "No, I'm not," but apparently even that is too much to ask for or expect. He doesn't say a word. She takes a quiet breath, knowing what she has to do. She's known for weeks, really, so she's not surprised when she doesn't have to summon her courage or resolve or stamp down her tears. She doesn't have need for any of those things. She just sighs, and the words escape.

"We need to break up, Mark."

Again, he doesn't even flinch. He just clears his throat and looks up. His eyes are on hers, but she still gets the impression that he doesn't really see her. "When did you find out?"

She smiles sheepishly. "You're camped outside her OR, Mark, it wasn't that hard to deduce what's been going on." She sobers a second later, realizing that he should probably know the truth. "I, uh, I heard Meredith and Derek talking about you two."

Mark closes his eyes. "Meredith and Derek," he repeats. "Of _course_." _Don't they know to keep their damn mouths shut?_

"It wasn't all bad."

He opens his eyes, raising his eyebrows. "Oh? You didn't think it was all bad, when you heard that I'm in love with another woman?"

Julia swallows her snappy reply. She can't help but be a little taken aback at how completely he owns up to it. She didn't know what she was expecting, but it sure wasn't this. "I just meant they weren't bashing you." She frowns. "Well, not totally," she qualifies after a second. She pauses a moment, surveying him as he returns to his brooding. "Before I go…" She watches his head slowly lift. "If I can offer you some advice?"

He nods; she knows it's only to be polite, but she'll take what she can get.

"You should really tell that girl how you feel."

"Pending she doesn't die in that OR, I will."

Julia nods, getting to her feet. She suddenly feels incredibly exhausted. "Well, okay, then." She dusts off her pants, looking to the stairwell. "The helicopter's still upstairs, so I'm going to go."

"Why…" He frowns, confused at her quick arrival and even quicker departure. "Why did you come here?" He wonders just as she's starting to head down the hall.

Julia Canner turns around, looking down at him. Her reply is automatic: "Because you were my boyfriend and you were in trouble."

He doesn't protest at her use of the past tense—it's already all in the past, anyway. _They're _in the past. Instead, he stares at her, trying to extract the truth with his eyes. He realizes a half-second later. "How long have you known?"

She shakes her head. "It isn't important."

"Tell me."

"A couple weeks."

"And why didn't you confront me about it?"

She almost laughs. "Confront you? And say what? '_Mark, I know you're in love with another woman. You've been pining after her for months, but I ignored it because I thought it would go away. Now appease me'_?" She ends up chuckling a bit. "What did I have to gain by confronting you?"

"What did you have to gain by _not _confronting me?"

Julia swallows; she's wrestled with this question before. She's only just now realizing how stupid she'd been to ignore what had been happening these past few weeks. "Nothing," she replies. "And I didn't really know," she adds. "I just… I had a hunch." She takes a breath. "I'm going back to Seattle now, okay? My things will be gone from your apartment when you get back, so don't worry about that." She glances to the OR door. "And tell Lexie I hope she makes a full recovery."

.

Mark doesn't know how many minutes or hours pass, but some time later, a new body _thunks _down on the ground beside him.

"You look like you need a distraction."

Mark doesn't even look over at the pilot's upbeat voice. "I'm waiting for her surgeons to notify me."

"Yes, you've been doing that for the past two hours," Roy replies without blinking an eye. "And since they haven't come out to notify you in all that time, chances are they won't be doing so anytime soon." He pauses. "Now, look," he begins, "they just fixed up my break and bandaged this thing…" He trails off, and eventually Mark looks over to acknowledge the other man's presence. "But I was hoping our agreement still held?"

It takes Mark a moment to remember. He's about to get to his feet and repay the man as he'd promised—but he quickly recalls where he is. "I don't have any privileges at this hospital," he explains. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to find someone else."

Roy grins. "You're not getting off that easy. Plus, I was promised the best plastic surgeon in the world. You think I'm going to settle for one of these lesser hacks?"

"Look," Mark sighs, not even feeling good enough to smirk at the praise, "I'm not trying to screw you over. I'm just saying that I do not have any right to practice medicine in the hospital. If we were at Seattle Grace—"

"I already asked the head of the ER," Roy interrupts, getting to his feet. Mark looks up at him, astonished. "You're good to go. They said they left exam room four open for us." He holds out his good arm, cradling the other to his chest. "What d'ya say? Wanna stitch me up or what?"

.

"So…" Roy drums his fingers against the armrest in a nervous, continuous beat, never finishing his sentence.

"Can you please stop that?"

"Stop what?" Roy's fingers pause as he asks; he looks over to the surgeon and immediately regrets it. The sight of the other man literally _sewing _his skin back together makes his stomach turn. His fingers resume their drumming, faster now.

"_That,_" Mark replies, nodding towards his good hand. "Stop tapping your fingers like that. It's distracting me from my job."

"Well, I _need _a distraction," Roy replies. He turns his head away again, not wanting to see his wound again. "That thing is gross."

"I'm trying to work, in case you haven't noticed."

"Work faster."

Mark sighs loudly, lifting his head. He levels the other man with an icy-cold stare. "Do you want me to make good on my promise or no?"  
Roy's mouth twitches in annoyance. "Just be quick about it. And less gross."

Mark rolls his eyes, returning to his work. "Don't look," he advises, condescension clear in his voice.

A few minutes pass in relaxing, productive silence before Roy speaks. "So…" He begins again. "You and Dr. Grey…" Mark can hear the suggestion in the man's voice, and it takes most of his willpower not to stab him with the nearest scalpel. "What's going on there?"

The plastic surgeon sighs heavily, never looking up. "Can we not do this please?"

"Not do what?"  
"We aren't friends; we don't need to pretend that we are. You're the pilot who crashed my plane, nothing more. So I'm not talking about her with you. And before you ask," he adds, "No, I don't even talk about her with my friends. Therefore, I certainly won't be talking about her with you."

"_I'm_ the guy who found your girlfriend under the wreckage—" Roy begins to protest.

"And broke her leg," Mark interjects coldly.

"_—and _successfully completed the call for help that not only saved her life, but saved _all_ our lives."

"She isn't saved yet," Mark mutters. "And she isn't my girlfriend," he adds, snapping the last sentence.

Roy grins at the surgeon's obvious annoyance with his last statement. "_Yet,_" he corrects. _And she wants to be your girlfriend_, he thinks, smiling to himself. _She wants to be so much more than that. _"So," he says a moment later, changing tactics, "How'd you two meet? Work?"

"Yes."

Roy grins, almost laughing at the surgeon's cold, brief reply. _Gotta warm him up_, he thinks, grinning to himself. "So what, she, uh, worked under you?"

Mark's cold eyes flicker up to glare at the pilot, who's still grinning. He opens his mouth to reply, to say, _It wasn't like that_, but he knows that wouldn't be completely true. He returns to his work while he speaks. "We met when she interned for one of my cases."

"So you were her boss?"

"One of many."

"But the only one she dated."

Mark sighs, wishing he could slam down the instruments in his hands. Instead, he just shakes his head and returns to sewing. "Yes, we dated."

"Date_d_." Roy lands hard on the second _d_.

Mark exhales through his nose, nostrils flaring. "Yes, date_d_. Past tense. No longer dating."

"You seem upset by that," Roy notes calmly.

Mark resists the urge to punch the man who saved him in the face. "I am upset," Mark replies, "but what I'm _upset_ about is the fact that you crashed our plane into the _woods_," he finishes flatly, glaring at the pilot, "and nearly killed us all."

Roy sighs loudly. "It is called a _system failure,_ Dr. Sloan. I can't exactly give you a nice cushy landing when the engines decide to blow out mid-flight."

"I would've liked a little warning."

Roy snorts. "Yeah, then maybe you might've been able to grow a pair in time to tell her you love her before the plane smashed to smithereens." Mark glares at his patient like he thinks he can kill the man with only his eyes. Roy merely shrugs, looking to the ceiling. "What?" He mutters. "It's not that complicated. She loves you, you love her. Just spit it out already before she dies."

"She _isn't _going to die," Mark growls.

Roy grins. "Ah-ha, you finally admit it!"

Mark's eyes narrow and his hands still in their work. "Do you honestlythinkthat I _wanted_ her to die?" He spits out the words, but even as angrily as he spoke them, he knows from the carefree look on the pilot's face that he didn't inject enough venom into his tone.

"Obviously not," Roy replies, not looking anything near perturbed at the surgeon's anger. "I just meant that you've been hanging around her operating room for hours, sitting on the floor like you're waiting for a death sentence."

"I was waiting for her to come out alive."

"And she will." Roy stares at his surgeon, suddenly serious now. "Believe that."

.

"She's—She's going to be okay, then?"

The surgeon smiles, nodding seriously. "Yes, your sister will be fine. We're going to put her in a full-leg cast, so her femur and fibula will be able to recover simultaneously with the minimal amount of potential damage." He glances over his shoulder. "It will still be a few hours, but feel free to notify all those who came with you, and the rest of her family, that she's out of the woods."

Meredith closes her eyes. "Thank god," she murmurs.

The surgeon is still smiling when she opens them again. "If you'd like to see her after we're done, we're planning on setting up room 202 for her. It's just down the hall here. We'd like to keep her here at least a night before we transfer, just to make sure she's no longer as dehydrated as she was and that the surgery continues to be a success."

Meredith nods, processing this. "You… You think we'll be able to get her transferred that quick?"

The surgeon shrugs. "I don't see why not. As long as there's ready transport and she looks like she's healing…"

Meredith nods. "Thank you so much," she whispers. "I—I don't know how to express how much all this means to me. To everyone," she adds a moment later. "Your people saved us. We'd have died in those woods—"

"—but you didn't," the surgeon interrupts. He looks over his shoulder again. "And, if you'll excuse me, I apologize, but—"

Meredith waves a hand. "Get back to my sister. I'll be here when you roll her out."

.

It's ten o'clock before Lexie Grey gets out of surgery and into her own room. Meredith was the only one allowed to see her, being immediate family, and even though the others could've fought the protocol, they didn't. Most were asleep in their own hospital beds by that time, exhausted beyond belief after the day they'd all had. Those who were still awake all knew Lexie was alive and on the mend, and that was enough for now, so they didn't press the issue either. Meredith herself only spent a couple minutes by her sister's bedside—long enough to see that she was alive and breathing—before quietly leaving the woman in peace to sleep and heal.

There was only one person who couldn't wait until morning.

.

The first thing Lexie becomes aware of is her own breathing. It's no longer ragged or winded. And there's no pain in her leg. She smiles, turning her head toward the limb. Her eyes go wide when she realizes where she is—no longer trapped under that plane in the forest, but… in a hospital. She blinks hard, staring down the bed at the cast that stretches from her upper thigh all the way down around her foot. It's dark blue, or maybe a normal blue and it just looks darker in the dim room, but none of that is important anymore, because as she lifts her eyes, they catch sight of something else. Some_one _else.

He's standing in front of the door like he's glued to it. His back is straight and his hand hovers on the doorknob, as if ready to leave at a moment's notice. It's too dark for her to make out any expression on his face, but not dark enough that she can't recognize him.

She feels a smile spread instinctively over her face, and as she takes in the sight of him, she feels herself wake up completely. She might be dreaming, it's true, but something tells her that though this is too good, it's too real, to be only a dream.

She closes her eyes, beaming when she opens them and he's still standing before her. "Hi, Mark," she whispers, feeling her heart speed up as he steps closer. "What are you doing here?"

.

**Author's Note:**I'm going to try and update as soon as I can, (I know, cliffhangers suck and I apologize) but I'm warning you all right now that I'm going on vacation for the next week and won't have time to write. I hope you'll all bear with me for the sake of the story and wait it out, if there is indeed a wait.

Again, I was a bit nervous about this chapter. I hope it ended up okay, but I would love to get feedback. Kindly leave me a review below :) I hope you all have a lovely week.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

zizis: Hopefully this reunion is just as beautiful as you were expecting!

Author's Note: Hi, all. I'm very sorry about the cliffhanger and its subsequent wait. I hope this chapter makes it all worth it. Thank you to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter and who have since added this story to their alerts and favorites. Please enjoy!

(Quick warning: A bit of a suggestive scene in this chapter… As well as loads of fluffiness. I hope you all don't go blind…)

.

"The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone."

Harriet Beecher Stowe

.

_"Hi, Mark. …What are you doing here?"_

She sits up straighter as she speaks, propping herself up against the pillows. He's still twice her height and standing across the room. He doesn't move an inch when he speaks.

"I love you."

Lexie feels her breath stop. She feels her heart go wild. And she only half-hears him as he continues, still hung up on that single, beautiful phrase. _You worried you'll die before you get to hear Dr. Sloan say those three little words?_ She can almost see that pilot grinning in her face as she recalls all his promises that got her through that day.

He doesn't clear his throat or shift his weight or move in any way when he speaks next. He just opens his mouth and plows straight through. And if he were saying anything else except the words Lexie had longed to hear for months, she might laugh at the similarities between the both of them. _We just aren't capable or hiding our feelings, nor controlling what comes out of our mouths._

"Julia and I broke up, she was here and then she left, because she knew and I knew that I… I love you." He pauses for a quick breath. "I've been trying to say it all day, believe me, Lex, but I…"

Finally, she gathers her wits. "You love me?" She interrupts, her voice rising with hope. "You really…" She can't do any more than whisper the last part. "…love me?"

He nods. The movement's jerky, but it's there. It's true, and so are his words. "I do." Those two words seem to propel him into action. One second, he's standing rigid across the room. The next, he's crossed it, arrived at her bedside and settled into a nearby chair she didn't even remember being there.

"I love you," he says again, looking her right in her wide and surprised eyes as he speaks. He has no choice; he can't look anywhere else. "I love you, so much, and I—" He breaks off to gather his thoughts and swallow his embarrassment. "I'm so sorry I didn't say it before or say it sooner. If you had…" His voice is swallowed up again, but it isn't by humiliation this time. She can hear the tears in his voice when he speaks and almost see them in his eyes when he looks at her. She can only stare at him in mute awe, unable to believe that this is really happening, that he's really saying these things. "If you had died in those woods, under that plane, or—or in the OR… I… I never would have forgiven myself." He closes his eyes, and the lines on his face twist in anguish. "If you had died out there, Lexie, I don't know what I would've done—"

"But I didn't die." Her voice is barely louder than a whisper, but it might as well be a shout at this time of night. "I didn't die, Mark."

"You came very close," he argues.

She feigns lightheartedness, gesturing down the bed. "I don't see how a broken leg is death."

"It was a very slippery and very steep slope in your case," Mark replies matter-of-factly. His words grow saddened and regretful a moment later. "I could've lost you," he whispers, leaning forward. He reaches for her hand, gripping it tightly, desperately, between his two. She's vaguely reminded of when he asked her to hold his hand under the plane. _Squeeze this. Squeeze until it doesn't hurt anymore._ He seems to be taking his own advice now. "You could've undergone so much worse than a broken leg out there," he continues. "You could've died and—"

"But I _didn't_," Lexie stresses, unable to hear that word on his lips anymore. "I _didn't die, _Mark_._" Her voice is firm and louder this time, and it makes him pause a second, and take stock of their situation. She watches the truth spread across his face like the early morning dawn and she half-smiles at the phenomenon.

"You… didn't die," he whispers. She stares at him; confused as to why he's staring so intently into her eyes. He's looking at her like he's never seen her before, like he'll never see her again. She watches, her confused eyes narrowing without a clue, as he rises slowly to his feet.

"What are you…" She trails off, frowning slightly when he finally stands up straight beside her, as if to ask, _What's going on here?_

When he bends down a moment later, though, and his hands let hers go to cup her cheeks, she's no longer confused. When his mouth descends on hers and his fingers burrow into her hair, she's no longer without a clue. In fact, she responds in kind, without needing a hint: her lips move against his with a desperate passion and her hands grip the back of his neck like she's holding on for dear life. Which, it seems, she is.

Before either of them can ever begin to remember where they are or what's transpired over the last twenty-four hours, he's climbed over the bed's handrail and is crouched above her. She pulls him tighter against him, and he never moves away. His tongue slips into her mouth, and she welcomes it, joining it with her own. Too close, it seems, is never close enough.

While the misty haze of sleep and lingering anesthesia that had been fogging up her mind just ten minutes ago evaporating, all that's left in its wake is a sharp and determined mind. And that mind is focused on one thing, and one thing only.

_His_ mind, on the other hand—through some fortune or misfortune, he doesn't take the time to decide—has become completely clouded by want and need. By _her._ His hands slip beneath her back as their kiss continues, and she shudders when they come in contact with the open tassels of her standard hospital gown. Only a few of the strings are tied; in no time, his strong hands are skimming along her smooth and excited skin. They leave trails of fire and want in their wake, causing desperate moans to emanate from somewhere deep in Lexie's throat.

It's only when he leans down, pressing himself against her and groaning at the way her body rubs against in a needy reply, that they both finally realize what's happening.

"Lexie," he pants, immediately tearing his mouth from hers and automatically bracing himself above her to separate their bodies. "We—"

He breaks off when her eyes close beneath him, feeling his voice get stuck in his throat at how horribly heartbroken she looks. "We can't," she whispers, her eyes still closed. She pushes the sleeves of her gown back onto her shoulders, hugging herself for a moment. Slowly, her eyes open and her hands rise to hold him. "With my leg, the cast, we—we can't…" She shuts her eyes again, using her hands to rub the sides of his neck soothingly. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I—I wish we… I _want _us to…" She bites down on her lower lip hard, finally opening her eyes and meeting his. He stares at her in disbelief, not understanding why she has any reason to apologize. _She _wasn't the one who jumped someone when a quarter of their body was covered in plaster.

He smiles a second later, leaning back. He shifts his legs, moving to occupy the open half of the bed beside her. "Little Grey…" He begins slowly, remembering a time, so long ago now, that her cheeks would've lit up crimson and her mile-a-minute mouth would've stuttered its way through such an "embarrassing" encounter as this. But she is nothing like that blushing, shy girl she used to be. He smiles again, and he leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. "'S'okay, Little Grey," he murmurs quietly as he pulls back. He mentally tells his body, his mind, his heart to _calm down._ He shifts more fully to his side of the bed, leaving a few inches of open air between them. "We don't need to do that tonight."

"We won't be doing it for nine to twelve weeks," she informs him, her lips twisting into an unhappy frown, "and that's not even including the months of physical therapy that will follow."

"Well," he replies, trying his best to cheer her up, "I had to put up with six weeks all by myself, if you remember." He smiles as her eyes widen. He had rarely brought up that traumatic experience since it happened, so she was more than a little shocked he chose now to recall it. "And I was much more sorely out of commission than you are today," he adds. "It's on fair that it be your turn now."

A tiny smile turns up her lips. "I knew karma would bitch-slap me for that," she notes amiably, immediately recalling the trying experience. She'd hadn't expected him to talk about it; instead, she expected him to keep that memory buried and hidden. She expected them never to speak of it. But she was happy he had, for it had been a defining month-and-a-half for them. It was what proved to him—and to her—that they were more than just sex. It had made them real, and was, in part, what had got them to where they were now.

He smiles again, a twinkle visible in his eye even in the darkness. "Payback's a bitch, huh?"

She chuckles, leaning forward to give him a lingering kiss. Her fingers are stroking the rough, stubble-covered skin of his cheek and jaw. "Trust me," she smiles, "you'll get your fair share of it once I'm back in the game."

He turns his head, pressing a few light kisses to her wandering fingers. "Can't wait." He grins, turning on his side to face her. "Speaking of which, I think I can come up with some pretty good physical therapy exercises for that leg of yours."

She grins back. "I hope they all involve wrapping it around your waist."

He frowns, critical. "Now I think we can get a _bit_ more creative than _that, _Lex."

She laughs. "Then what do you suggest?"

He smiles, kissing her lightly. "I'll tell you later," he replies. "When you're better." She smiles, and he watches her, sighing slowly a minute later. Her hand pauses on the side of his head; the gesture spoke clearly of his exhaustion.

"What is it?" She whispers, tilting her head to look him more fully in the eyes. Her hand cups his cheek, holding his face in place so she can examine it. "Mark, what's wrong?"

He shakes his head gently. "Nothing's wrong," he whispers, kissing her lips in soft reassurance. His eyes fall closed before the kiss even ends. "I just…" He forces in a breath, forces in normalcy. "I can't stop thinking about it, about you, about what would've happened if—"

"_Don't _think about that," she interrupts, much more harshly than he'd expected. "Do _not_ think about it," she repeats, her intense brown gaze never wavering from his. "It didn't happen and it _isn't _going to happen now. I'm going to make a full recovery. And even if I _don't_," she adds before he can speak, "it doesn't matter. One broken or disfigured leg does not mean we will not be able to be together." She swallows as she pauses, suddenly unsure for some reason. "Does it?" She whispers self-consciously, unconsciously shifting her healed leg atop the other as if to hide the damage from him.

"Of course not." Mark speaks the words gruffly, as if hers had affronted him. Lexie smiles at the idea, thanking him with her eyes.

"That's what I thought," she murmurs. She inhales a deep breath, her mind fogging over at his familiar scent. "So," she resumes quietly, "there's nothing to worry about, nothing to fear." Her fingers begin stroking the scratchy beginnings of a full beard on his cheeks. "I'm right here," she whispers, staring intently into his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere." She smiles, "Now's a great time to get me back," she jokes, "cause I can't run away, even if I would want to."

He laughs, his eyes falling closed. She exhales a breath of relief, knowing that the worst has passed. "Now I get why you hung out at my hotel every night after you broke me," he smirks, his teasing blue eyes finding hers, "you knew if you nursed me back to health, I'd never be able to leave."

"You wouldn't have been able to leave anyway," she replies, confident in her allure and his weakness to it.

He levels her with a dry, judgmental stare. "You fractured my penis, Lexie," he informs her distastefully—as if she didn't already know. "I don't think that puts you high on my list of girls to jump back into bed with."

Lexie grins, triumphant. "And yet you came crawling back to me anyway."

"I wasn't crawling."

She smiles, acquiescing, "Okay, okay, you weren't _crawling_."

His expression grows tender, his eyes glow warm. "I wasn't crawling," he corrects. "I was running. I ran back, because I knew you had something no one else could give me."

Lexie's lips twitch; she holds back from asking 'another penile fracture?' She knows this is a serious moment. "And what's that?" She whispers.

"Attention. Acceptance." He draws in a breath; the hushed action sounds boisterously loud in the near-silent hospital room. "Love." He swallows, finally finding her eyes. "And a place to belong."

She feels a happy smile spread over her face without her even moving a muscle. "Yes," she whispers, trailing her hand across his face and letting her fingers brush over his lips. "I gave you all those things." She feels tears prick her eyes and she smiles to stay them off a bit longer. "And you gave them right back. You paid attention to me like no one else had; you accepted me for the crazy intern I was, you…" The tears fill her eyelids again, and this time, she can't hold them off. She hears his breath catch as they fall down her cheeks. "You loved me. You _really _loved me, Mark. Even when I didn't know what that was, exactly, or what it meant, or what it could mean… You loved me." She breathes in shakily, lifting a hand to wipe her tears away. "And you gave me a place to belong," she finished raggedly. "When I had nothing and no one, you took me in. Not—Not because I was an estranged family member or a charity case or—" She shakes her head. "None of that. You took me in—"

"—because I wanted you." His low, deep voice interrupts her, sending a delicious thrill down her spine. It takes her a minute to remind herself that what she wants—what they _both _want—isn't an option right now. _Calm down._ "I wanted you," he repeats, staring into her eyes and apparently oblivious to what's going on inside her. "Sure, at first it was just for sex… But you and I both know that just-sex phase didn't last very long."

She can't help but smile. "Yeah… Refresh me, was it after the fifth or sixth time we fell asleep holding each other while watching TV—for barely an _hour_, by the way—was it _then_ that you finally realized we were something a _bit _more than just casual fuck buddies?"

He grins, cupping her neck with a gentle hand and guiding her willing lips to his for a brief kiss. "Maybe seventh," he replies. "The first six were flukes."

"Very romantic flukes," Lexie teases, grinning at him.

"They were nice," he allows diplomatically.

"Nice," she quotes with a laugh. "_Nice, _right." She chuckles. "Okay."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing…" She rolls her eyes, sighing dramatically.

"_What_?" Mark presses.

"Nothing," she smiles sweetly. "It's just…" She blinks slowly at him. "If I'm not mistaken, it was _you_ who fell asleep nearly every time. I just laid there, waiting for you to wake up so we could screw already and I could go home to my own bed."

He smirks. "You watched me as I slept, didn't you?"

"I might've…enjoyed the view," she replies tactfully.

He grins, settling himself back against the pillows and moving closer to her. "Wanna enjoy the view some more?"

She smiles, looking down to reach for his hand and envelop it in hers. "Maybe," she whispers, "but only if I get to do so for many more days to come. Enough of this one-night stuff."

His lips twitch happily. "How 'bout months, instead?" He teases. "That enough for you?"

"I think years would be better." Her quiet reply could've knocked him off his feet… If he were standing. As it is, he simply feels his mind go blank and vaguely registers that his breathing and heart rate seemed to have spiked.

"What?" He mumbles, having trouble focusing now. _What did she say?_

"Years," she replies with a small smile. She leans forward, snuggling her head against the pillow and touching her forehead to his. "If you'd like," she whispers, "I would be perfectly okay with us discussing those sorts of plans about the future." She pauses. "_Permanent _plans," she stresses quietly, as if it were necessary. She waits for him to speak, but when he fails to reply, she continues, obviously a bit more unsure of herself because of his lack of a response. "But if we—if we could wait… wait 'til I'm back on my feet—literally—I'd be really grateful." She pauses again, smiling tentatively, as if worried he might reject her, even now.

"G—Grateful?" He manages to choke out finally.

She breathes an audible sigh of relief when he finally speaks. "Y—Yes," she continues quickly. "I—I've thought about it and I… Well, like I said, I'm okay with discussing those sorts of things. If you want to. If you still want to." She takes a slow breath. "Just not until after I'm back on my feet, okay? We—We should wait to do things—to do _anything_—until I'm back on my feet. I… I know I brought it up, and I don't want take it back, I _don't_, but I… I don't want either of us to be making these decisions in the wake of what happened, just _because _it happened, either. I… I'd like for us to talk, Mark." She bites down hard on her lower lip, turning it white momentarily. "Really talk," she whispers. "I'd like us to really talk—about this, about us, about our future…" She trails off, staring into his eyes. She strokes his cheek absentmindedly with a free hand. "So?" She murmurs after a time. "We'll talk? About the future, our future, once we're both ready?"

He nods. "Yes." He leans against her hand. Slowly, he reaches up, taking that hand in his and moving it to his mouth. She shivers at the soft touch of his lips, and just like before, stares at him with wide eyes as he presses a loving kiss to the center of her palm. "We'll talk. I promise."

"Good." She closes her eyes in relief. She lets her hand drop, resting it lightly on his chest. She leans forward, tipping her chin outward to brush her lips softly against his. "I love you, Mark."

She stays awake long enough to hear his immediate reply. Then, she shifts forward, tucking her head beneath his and pressing her small, battered body against his. She closes her eyes and waits those few short minutes until sleep takes over.

_I love you, _she thinks again but doesn't quite have the wherewithal to open her mouth this time and speak. Luckily, he seemed to read her mind anyway and replies in kind.

"I love you." He speaks quietly, softly. She struggles to reply, wanting him to know how she feels, wanting him to know how wonderful it is to be in his arms again, in his life again… "I love you." Some part of her frowns when he says it again, confused. "I love you." She whishes she were closer to consciousness than to unconsciousness. Then she could ask him why he keeps saying it. "I love you." His voice is muffled this time, but closer. She can hear the tears in his voice, and seconds later, feel them fall into her hair and soak into her scalp. "I love you." He's holding her tighter now, clutching her desperately in his strong arms like he thinks she's going to fly away. Or run away. She tries to make a mental note to remind him of the definition of marriage tomorrow. She's fairly certain there's a clause in those vows somewhere that states that there will be no running, no leaving, no dying. "I love you." She'll have to look it up. She can't remember right now, and she feels inadequate because of that fact. "I love you." He must feel inadequate too. He's shaking around her, trembling, and pressing never-ending kisses to her hair and forehead—the closest parts his lips can reach. "I love you." He's stumbling over the words now; his throat sounds clogged and painful. She wishes she were awake enough to hug him hard, to kiss him back, and stroke his graying hair and tell him not to cry. _I'm right here, _she wants to say. _I'm not going anywhere._

But she's so tired. And she's going somewhere, she's floating off, carried away by the drugs and the fatigue and the latent pain.

"I love… I love you too," she finally manages to mumble. Her words come out as a gurgle against his chest, but from the way she feel his heartbeat change, she knows he must've heard them. She smiles at its altered rhythm, letting it lull her to sleep.

"L—Lex?" He wonders, suddenly on high alert after hearing her voice.

But he's too late. She's already gone.

Mark feels fresh tears prick his eyes, replacing the old ones from moments ago, as he holds her tight against him. _Did she hear me? _He thought she was already asleep when he started whispering to her. He's humiliated for all of five seconds before he realizes—there's no reason to be. He feels a smile spread over his face at the epiphany, and he clutches her closer, much closer this time. Tighter. "I love you," he calls, not even bothering to lower his voice.

"Mmhm," she mumbles weakly in reply. "I know. I know… you do." She nestles her head closer towards his chest. "Go t'sleep now," she instructs, already falling away again. "Go t'sleep, Mark."

_._

_Lullaby baby,_

_Lullaby baby, I'll keep you here,_

_Lullaby baby, keep you still here._

_I would wrap you in angels, just to keep_

_you safe._

_While the world might break you,_

_Be strong in your will_

_And trade all your scars for love_

**_I would wrap you in angels,_**

**_Just to keep _**

**_you _**

**_safe._**

_._

_Author's Note: Originally, this chapter and the next were just going to be one chapter… But then I kept adding to this last scene and it got super long. The lyrics came from the same episode of Criminal Minds that the quote did; they both worked in tandem as inspiration for this story._

_Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! Please leave me a review below!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

_Author's Note: Wow, anons, this is awesome. I'm getting readers from France and Germany and Sweden… Hi, world! I'm just from the USA *sigh* Nice to know there are so many people out there who love Mark and Lexie!_

_To zizis: I'm really glad you liked the last chapter! I was hoping you would :)_

_Thank you all for your reviews on the last chapter. Please enjoy this one as well:_

.

Meredith Grey cannot remember the last time she was this happy or this excited. She's practically skipping down the now-familiar halls of this foreign hospital, a cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag with a poppy seed bagel in the other. She almost starts whistling, but she stops herself before she goes this far. Even shiny, happy Meredith Grey has limits.

But not many.

It's seven AM. Visitors aren't allowed for another two hours, but Meredith simply couldn't wait. She waited for Derek to wake up, spent a couple minutes with him before he fell back to sleep, and then went out and bought breakfast. She checked on Arizona, and found her asleep, holding Callie's hand. She was assured by a nearby nurse that the blonde would make a full recovery. Derek still wasn't awake when she returned, but she'd left him a bagel anyway before she went in search of her little sister. They were all stuck in the hospital, sure, but that didn't mean they didn't deserve real breakfasts.

And real coffee, too. Meredith smiles, shifting the cup and bag to the same hand as she approached the door. Hospitals notoriously have bad coffee, but this one seems to have the worst. Hers had tasted like mud earlier this morning, and she immediately dumped the cup after half a sip. She didn't want to make Lexie suffer that. The girl needed real coffee, and, Meredith decided on the way, a real breakfast, too.

She'd have to face Mark at some point, and though some might argue that would be better to do on an empty stomach, Meredith Grey knows better. Lexie needs her strength. For him, and for everything else. She frowns, remembering her conversation about the two she'd had yesterday with her husband. _And Mark needs some balls, _she adds silently.

She reaches for the doorknob, sighing in quiet exasperation. _Honestly, _she thinks to herself, _how hard is it to say "I love you?" _She shakes her head as she peeks through the door's small window. She's just about to wrench open the door, but what she sees through that small plate-glass window stops her in her tracks. She stands, rooted to the spot, for half a minute, before turning around and hurrying back the way she'd come.

.

Derek Shepherd jolts away it the sound of a slamming door. He blinks blearily, letting the exam room that surrounds him quickly come into focus. He grimaces at his busted ankle for a second before catching sight of the woman in the doorway. A smile immediately spreads over his face at the sight of her.

"Hey, Mer." He takes note of the bag and drink in her hand. "You brought me breakfast?" He wonders, smiling at her kindness.

"Breakfast alter," she replies, not bothering to point out that she'd left a bagel for him on the side counter. It would only slow him down. "You have to come see this!"

"I just woke up," Derek protests. "I'm not going anywhere. Give me my breakfast and then I'll—"

"He'll be gone by then!"

Derek frowns. "Who'll be gone by then?"

Meredith doesn't reply, but simply grabs the crutches leaning against the wall and handing them to him.

.

"Okay," Derek groans, exhaling in tired relief when they finally came to a stop fifteen minutes later. "Why are we here?"

"This is Lexie's room."

"Great," Derek yawns. "She's good, isn't she? Her leg's on the mend?"

Meredith gestures to the small window in the center of the door. "See for yourself."

Derek props himself up on his crutches, peering through the doorway. He showed so little recognition at first that Meredith was sure Mark had left and Derek had missed it. But when her husband turned back to face her, she saw that that wasn't true. "What did this happen?" He wonders, his voice sharp with surprise.

Meredith simply shakes her head. "I have no idea." She frowns. "I told you to talk to him; that's what you did, right?"

Derek's eyebrows draw together. "No, that's not what I did. We barely spoke yesterday; he didn't even bring up Lexie."

"But they're…" Meredith pauses, checking through the window. No, Mark was still there. "They're in bed together!"

"And we should leave them be," Derek instructs, adjusting his grip on his crutches. "They deserve time to themselves after all this."

Meredith turns to her husband, arching her eyebrows. "To do what?"

He rolls his eyes, sighing. "Mer, you can't seriously think they're going to—"

"If anyone could find a way to get around a heel-to-hip cast to get the job done, it would be Mark and Lexie," Meredith replies matter-of-factly.

"In a _hospital_?" Derek presses, skepticism and outrage ringing clear in his tone.

Meredith stares at him as if he were an idiot. "Have you _been _to Seattle Grace, Derek?"

"Oh," he mumbles. He chuckles a second later, meeting her eyes with a sly glint in his. "Right." He looks back through the window a moment later, catching sight of Mark and Lexie just as they begin slowly coming back to consciousness. A smile pulls up the corners of his mouth absentmindedly as he watches the couple wake up to each other for the first time in years.

"It's sweet," Meredith murmurs, watching Mark's hand trace the outline of Lexie's cheek before he leans in to kiss her lips slowly. Lexie's smiling widely when he pulls back, and she doesn't hesitate to lean forward and nuzzle her nose against his in a loving reply. "Seeing them like this, seeing them together after everything. I think it's sweet." Derek nods, similarly mesmerized by the couple's private displays of deep affection.

"Should we go in?" He wonders a moment later, looking to his wife. "Now that they're awake?"

Meredith shakes her head. "No," she replies slowly, still fixated on the pair. She meets her husband's gaze a few seconds later. "You were right before," she smiles, stepping away, "they deserve some time alone."

.

"Will you say it again?"

Mark smiles, bending his head forward to touch his forehead against hers again, and whispers the words. "I told when you were unconscious," he informs her quietly, never meeting her eyes. "I told you, but it was too late. I'd waited too long."

"No." Her voice is surprisingly strong; so much so that he looks back. "You weren't too late," she replies, looking into his eyes. "You could…" She lifts a hand to frame the side of his face. "You could never be too late."

_You could've died. Then I would've been too late. _He bites his tongue to hold back the first response that jumps to his lips. Instead, he changes the subject. "Did you mean what you said last night?" He wonders. "About… About us, once you're healed?" His eyes are closed now, his forehead pressed solidly against hers. She smiles, letting her eyes roam over his face uninterrupted.

"Yes," she whispers, scooting closer to him. She moves her hand to the side of his neck, letting her fingertips burrow their way into the short hairs on the back of his neck. "I meant everything I said, Mark." He opens his eyes slowly, and they immediately lock with hers. "What about you?" She wonders softly, her fingers stroking his skin.

"Did I mean what I said or do I share your plans?" He wonders. She doesn't reply. Mark takes a slow breath, as if weighing his choices. "Well," he begins quietly, "the answer is _yes _to both, regardless of which you wanted to hear." He swallows, blinking at her. "But can I just ask… Why?"

"Why?" Lexie repeats, her brain still frazzled and her heart still hammering from his affirmative answer. "Why what?"

"Why all this talk about marriage?" He asks. He's surprised he doesn't stumble over the word. "Why now, after you've said you don't want to lay down your future during residency—"

"My residency's almost over," Lexie interrupts. "It…" She sighs, glancing down at her bandaged leg. "Well, it _would _have been over in under a year, but I'm sure this thing'll set me back…"

"Your residency coming to an end isn't what made you suddenly think of marrying me."

Lexie tries and fails to hide a smile at his words. "No, you're right," she agrees. Her smile widens. "It was that pilot, actually. Roy." She closes her eyes for a second, remembering. _You and Mark will have a lifetime to tell each other how much you love one another. Once we get you out, I promise you'll have that, all that and more_. "I thought I was going to die," she whispers. "And I had—_so_ many regrets. But what I regretted the most…" She opens her eyes slowly, swallowing her fear. "What I regretted the most," she repeats in a hush, "what I thought about as the plane fell out of the sky…was not fixing things with you. Not telling you I loved you, not being together again, and not… Not marrying you." She pauses to take a breath, and though Mark wants to interject, he can't find the words to say what he feels. "I didn't think about it until you were gone and they wanted to move the plane off me," she continues quietly. She feels his body tense beside hers at the mention, but again, he doesn't speak. "And I—I just wanted to see you," she whispers. "I wanted to see you, one last time. If I was going to die, I wanted to have you next to me, at least."

Mark doesn't speak for a very long time. And just when Lexie's about to take back what she said—thinking she put him off or scared him away—he shakes his head. He laughs. And a smile spreads over his face.

"God _damn_ that man," Mark mutters, shaking his head in quiet amusement tinged with disbelief. "I'll never be out of his debt."

Lexie smiles, relieved at his reply and rather in awe of how well he's taking things. "Get his number and we'll invite him to the wedding," she suggests.

"I'll have to make him the best man at the rate he's going."

Lexie doesn't bat an eyebrow. "So make him the best man. I'm sure Derek won't mind."

A mischievous smile curves up the sides of Mark's mouth. "I'll think about it."

"Good," Lexie smiles. She tips her chin forward, sparing a moment for a soft kiss. She sighs softly as she pulls back, her eyes closing tiredly.

"Go back to sleep," Mark instructs quietly. "It's still early."

Lexie nods, shifting in the bed to get more comfortable. Yesterday had taken an immense toll on her body—both mentally and physically—and Mark's late-night visit hadn't helped the healing process much. She guesses she probably got less than seven hours of sleep last night—which usually wouldn't be much of a problem, but after the last twenty-four hours she's had…

"You'll be here when I wake up?" She mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her face against his upper arm to use as a surrogate pillow.

"Of course."

She feels a light pressure on the crown of her head, and she reaches up a hand before he can pull back. She threads her fingers through the hairs on the back of his neck, smiling faintly as he presses another kiss to her hair. "Sorry," he apologizes into her dark locks, "I didn't mean to press the issue to quickly…"

She shakes her head, yawning against him. "No," she replies. "It was stupid of me to spring that on you and then think that we wouldn't talk about it for the next three to six months." Her eyes snap open, and all of a sudden, she's propped up in bed, staring him right in the eye. "But we _will _wait until then to have the ceremony," she informs him. Her eyes are dark and serious, and her tone leaves no room for interpretation. "I will _not _go down the aisle in crutches." _Or, god forbid, _a wheelchair.

"Oh, Lex…" Mark smirks, reaching out and cupping her cheek. "You make it seem like I'd actually _want _to marry a gimp."

He grins as her mouth twists, laughing as he lifts an arm to block her returning punch. "Think of it this way," he calls over her half-affectionate insults. "Now you've got a goal."

"I didn't realize I needed nuptials in my future to make _walking_ a goal," Lexie notes dryly.

Mark smiles, bending forward to kiss her briefly. "You wanna walk on your wedding day or what?"

Lexie can't help but smile back at his question and the bright future it paints. Just yesterday, her future was dark. Just yesterday, her future consisted of mere hours, not days. And certainly not years. A moment later, she settles back down into bed beside him, snuggling in close. "Yeah," she whispers, reaching out and twining her fingers with his. "I do."

He grins. "So get to work."

She smiles back, squeezing his hand. "I will. Once I sleep."

He pulls her close. "Sleep, then. I'll keep away the nurses for as long as I can."

"And Mark?"

"Yeah?"

She smiles to herself before whispering, "I love you."

"I love you too, Lex."

_._

_Author's Note: So that last scene came out a _lot _longer than expected. I was going to cut it off right after that last MerDer scene, but then I just kept writing. Hopefully you guys liked it :)_

_This was the final chapter. Thank you all so much for reading, alerting, favorting, and commenting. Your support meant, and continues to mean, so much to me._

_PS: I think I should inform you guys that I'm thinking about moving into a new universe. I'm very excited about this but also very nervous, seeing as this world is something I've never done before. __I wish I could post a link on this page, but annoyingly, FFN does not allow that. But if you delete the spaces and go to **fais2688. livejournal** ** . com**, you will find a one-shot called "A Walk on the Wild Side" beneath the first post. It should give you a pretty good taste of what I'm talking about (though very far into the future). __You don't need a LiveJournal account to access the story or comment on it.__  
_

_I'd love to hear what you guys think of the fic, and of the universe, especially if you're interested in having me pursue something along those lines. (Also, do you think I should post the one-shot and the story-if I ever get around to writing enough of it-to FFN as well, or just keep it on LJ?)_

**_Thank you for reading and please leave me a review! (Or two.)_**


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